A Matter of Time
by Soledad
Summary: After being killed by the 456, Ianto Jones unexpectedly wakes up in an unknown place. A man he's never seen before offers him a chance to save mankind in the not too distant future. Will he accept, and will he succeed? And if yes, what promises does that future hold for him?
1. Chapter 1: Like a Phoenix

**A MATTER OF Time**

 **by Soledad**

 **Fandom** : Star Trek – Enterprise/Whoniverse x-over

 **Genre** : Action-adventure, Alternate Universe, Romance

 **Rating** : T, for now

 **Series** : None really, though this can eventually become the pilot to a couple of stories set in the same alternate universe.

 **Disclaimer** : Star Trek belongs to Gene Roddenberry, first and foremost, and secondly whoever happens to have the rights at the moment. It's hard to follow. I don't own anything just a few secondary characters and the alternate plot idea.

* * *

 **Introduction**

Alternate _Enterprise_ universes have been created many times, mostly by devoted Star Trek fans who were affronted by the canon divergences of the show and disappointed by the regurgitated plotlines. I've created such an AU myself, starting with an alternate pilot and the promise of possible later stories.

The basic premise if that universe was: what if Archer had been somebody more like Torchwood's Jack Harkness? Without the immortality but with the competence, the charisma, the good looks and the larger-than-life personality? In short: with everything canon!Archer seemed to lack so much. Well, not the competence, perhaps, but definitely the rest of it,

But if I had a Jack Harkness look-alike, I couldn't really go without a Ianto Jones of some sort. So I recast Crewman Daniels to make him more enigmatic and to create some chemistry between him and Archer. As the next step, I changed Hoshi's background, giving her one similar to that of Torchwood's Toshiko. Then I caught myself bringing back the other Torchwood characters, though in different roles.

At this point I decided that – while I still kept that particular AU – an Enterprise/Whoniverse crossover of some sort would be fun. The Temporal Cold War offered the ideal starting point for that. It would be so much easier to explain when rivalling Time Lords would be pulling the strings from the background.

Of course, with the _Enterprise_ events taking place a century and a half after _Torchwood_ ended, I would be playing with the – hypothetical – offspring of the original TW characters. With one exception: Ianto, whose unnecessary and undignified death in CoE made me swear off Torchwood entirely. So I decided to bring him back, with the help of my favourite Doctor, who was also written out way too early.

How it is possible? Well, timey-wimey, remember? Besides, this is an AU.

Enjoy!

* * *

 **Chapter 01 – Like a Phoenix**

Ianto's last memory is dying. Well… that and having confessed his love to Jack with his last breath. Which, true to form, Jack has _not_ been able to return. Actually, it's been worse than that: the bloody wanker even tried to stop Ianto's confession.

Damn him! Couldn't he be bothered to lie, out of compassion for his dying lover… partner… whatever they might have been?

Ianto realizes, of course, that this is now a moot point anyway, seeing that he's dead and all that.

Or is he?

Carefully, not quite trusting his limbs to actually work, he pushes himself into sitting position and takes a look around him. The surroundings don't reveal anything. The plain little room could be in a better hotel or in the private wing of a hospital, anywhere on Earth.

Or beyond it.

If this is the afterlife, he doesn't find it very impressive.

Besides, why would he be wearing silk pyjamas in the afterlife? Or something very similar, only cut in one piece and without any buttons?

For a delusional near-death fantasy it isn't very impressive, either.

"Oh, you're awake!" says a pleasant enough voice with a slight Northern accent. "Good, good. For a moment, I was afraid it wouldn't work."

" _What_ wouldn't work?" Ianto asks.

The owner of the voice enters through a door that Ianto could have sworn hasn't been there a moment before. It's a tall, lean man of wiry strength, with short-cropped dark hair, piercing blue eyes and large ears. He's wearing blue jeans and a black leather jacket over a black pullover.

"The cure, of course," he replies Ianto's question readily enough. "The antidote hasn't been created with humans in mind. Do you feel any unpleasant side effects?"

"Other than every part of me hurting as if I'd been beaten within an inch of my life?" Ianto asks back dryly. "Nah, none."

The man frowns. "I could try to give you something against the pain…"

"Don't bother," Ianto replies. "I've had worse. Much worse. And my pain tolerance is higher than the average; I'll deal. What I'd like, though, is some answers."

The man nods. "Go on and ask then," he says.

"So you've cured me from the 456's poison," Ianto begins.

The man nods again.

"I appreciate that," Ianto says. "Really, I do. But I'd like to know who you are, where I am… and where Jack is."

"If you mean Captain Harkness, he's left Earth aboard a passing alien ship, destination unknown," the man starts answering his questions backwards. "You're currently aboard my ship. I've brought you here so that you can heal fully. Because trouble is brewing in the 22nd century, and I may need your help."

"And you'd be…" Ianto trails off expectantly.

"I'm the Doctor," the man tells him simply.

Ianto shakes his head, suppressing the resulting nausea by sheer willpower.

"No, you're not. I've seen the Doctor and you don't look like him at all. He's a lot shorter, thin like a wraith, has sentient hair and wears a long coat and trainers."

The man frowns. "I never looked like that, in any of my previous regenerations. Oh, dear!" his shoulders slump as realization hits. "You must have met a future me. That's not good, not good at all!"

"It depends," Ianto says. "Which one _are_ you?"

"This is my 9th incarnation," the man – well, the Doctor, obviously – replies, still a little confused.

Ianto nods. "That explains it. I met Number Ten, and let me tell you, he's a real wanker. Jack and Tosh preferred this version of you, too."

The Doctor gives him a blank look. "I never had companions called Jack or Tosh," he says.

Ianto sighs. "Not _yet_ … listen, I really should shut up. This must be very early for the current regeneration of you, and I don't want to mess up the timeline."

That statement clearly surprises the Doctor.

"You know about the danger of that?" he asks. "Are you with UNIT?"

"Not quite," Ianto tries to remember what this particular doctor ought to know this early on, uncertain whether he should take the risk or not; but he _has_ to set a few things straight. "Ever heard about Torchwood?"

"Of course," the Doctor replies. "They were the driving force behind human space exploration for centuries. Or will be. Well, should have become. But somewhere in the 21st century something happened and the whole future changed as a result. I actually came back to see _what_ happened – when the TARDIS rook me to Thames House. Where I've picked up _you_."

He thinks for a moment, clearly playing over different scenarios in his mind.

"Since you've already met my future self, it won't be safe if you told me anything," he then continues. "I'll have to learn about the events in a different way."

"So I can't help you, after all?" Ianto asks, a bit disappointed.

"And _how_ you can!" the Doctor exclaims. "Since you count as dead in your own time, I can take you to the 22nd century to act as my agent, restoring the timeline."

"The 22nd century," Ianto repeats slowly. "Just like that."

The Doctor shrugs. "This is the TARDIS; she can travel in time. It won't take her much effort to take you where you're needed. Unless you want me to put you down on some nice, tropical planet for the rest of your life."

"That's tempting," Ianto admits. "I've been overdue for a vacation for at least five years. Can you offer me an alternative that would be even more tempting?"

The Doctor grins. "How does space exploration sounds? I could put you on the first Earth-built ship travelling thirty million kilometres a second."

For a moment Ianto is absolutely stunned by the offer. This is so much more than even Torchwood One could have offered!

"What's the catch?" he then asks.

"It will be dangerous," the Doctor admits. "Extremely so. The first mission of the ship is one several forces would like to see fail. It must _not_ fail; and not only for Earth's sake."

"And you believe _I could_ prevent it?" Ianto asks doubtfully. "I'm just an average human, not an im…"

He catches himself in the last moment. _This_ Doctor hasn't met Jack yet. More than that: in _this_ Doctor's timeline Jack is still mortal, running from his past, conning his way through the galaxy.

"Never mind," he finally says. "I can't do something like this alone."

"You don't have to," the Doctor replies. "I could give you the necessary knowledge and equipment, but your main support would be the captain of that ship and his crew. All you'd have to do is to persuade him to work with you."

Ianto gives him a jaundiced look. "And how on Earth am I supposed to do that? An outsider, out of my time, with no idea about the century you're planning to send me to?"

"It's been my experience that for a race of hairless apes humans are a very resourceful species," replies the Doctor blithely. "As for not knowing anything about the 22nd century – you're in the TARDIS, remember? I'll show you how to access her virtual library and you can learn anything you want… well, within reasonable limits, of course. I can't have you snooping around in the future."

"You're _sending_ me into the future," points out Ianto reasonably.

The Doctor waves off his argument. "Not too far, though. You'll be able to view events up to 2151 and not any further – unless and after you've signed up for the job."

"You still haven't told me _what_ the job is," Ianto reminds him.

"Finding out who's behind the factions that are trying to sabotage the mission of the _Enterprise_ – which is your ship," the Doctor replies promptly. "It won't be easy and it will be dangerous, as I said; you could easily get killed."

"Been there, done that," Ianto comments dryly.

"Perhaps," the Doctor says. "But I may not be able to be on time to save you again."

"Why did you save me in the first place then?" Ianto asks.

The Doctor shrugs. "Because the alternate timeline showed that you ought to be on the _Enterprise_ to prevent a disaster of galactic proportions."

Ianto stars at him in shock. "You can see into the future?"

The Doctor shakes his head. "Not in the way you seem to believe. I've simply visited the same time period repeatedly and found things changed. _Profoundly_ changed – and for the worse, I'd say. Which always means that somebody, somewhen has tampered with the timeline. Things have first branched out in the 21st century – your own time. I assume that your death and Captain Harkness abandoning Torchwood had something to do with it."

 _The 21_ _st_ _century is when everything changes_ , Jack's often repeated mantra echoes in Ianto's mind. He often wondered what, exactly, had been the point of departure from the proper timeline – if there had ever been one. He is wondering now what Jack would do in his shoes.

"Obviously, I can't bring you back to the breaking point," the Doctor adds. "You'd be crossing your own timeline – with disastrous results. Granted, the breach would be a lot wider in the 22nd century, but still not irreparable… I hope."

"You _hope_?" Ianto echoes incredulously.

"There are no guarantees," the Doctor answers grimly. "But we must try; well, _I must_ try. And I could really use some help."

Ianto doesn't answer immediately. On the one hand, a lifelong vacation on a tropical planet _is_ very tempting, and he's been holding grudges against the Doctor on Jack's behalf for years.

On the other hand, _this_ isn't the Doctor that abandoned Jack on that game station, among dead bodies and Dalek dust, in the far, far future. _This_ Doctor hasn't even met Jack – young, reckless, _mortal_ Jack – yet. This is the Doctor whom Tosh had met and liked. The Doctor who hasn't had any quarrel with Torchwood yet.

Besides, saving Earth – or the future of mankind – is something Ianto had signed up for when he joined Torchwood One what now seemed like several lifetimes ago. He still remembers what his fellow survivors said when they learned that he'd joined Torchwood Three. "You can take the boy out of Torchwood but you can't take Torchwood out of the boy."

It is depressingly true.

Nonetheless, he doesn't intend to rush headfirst into unknown danger any longer. He can't bounce back from death like Jack; and as the Doctor said, he can't count on the Time Lord and his amazing timeship to come to the rescue every time.

"I have to think about it," he finally says. " _And_ I'll need data before I'd make my decision. Lots of it."

The Doctor nods. "Of course. I wouldn't have you go into battle unprepared."

Ianto scowls at him. "I haven't agreed to go yet."

"No," allows the Doctor, "but you will. I saw you on that ship, remember?"

"What happens when I decide _not_ to go?" Ianto asks.

"Then history will be rewritten again," the Doctor replies with a shrug. "Despite what you humans may believe, time isn't a linear process, set in stone. It's a… wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey… _thing_."

For a moment Ianto seriously considers the possibility that the Doctor might be slightly insane at this particular point of his personal timeline: freshly regenerated, right after the Great Time War that has supposedly wiped out both his species _and_ the Daleks. Ianto knows from horribly painful personal experience that the latter part isn't true, but _this_ Doctor can't know that. Not yet.

So yeah, maybe he _is_ a little insane… or more than just a little.

"This is not a very scientific description, sir," Ianto says.

"No, it isn't," the Doctor agrees. "Science, though, is just the summary of our efforts to understand the universe; and _time_ is the part of the universe that always tends to escape our understanding."

"And yet you call yourselves Time Lords and keep tampering with it," Ianto says, sharper than intended.

The Doctor laughs mirthlessly.

"One can't be more a lord of time than a surfer riding the waves is lord of the oceans," he says. "The actual Gallifreyan word means more something like _time-walker_. The bad translation into other languages comes from a period when we actually _believed_ we could lord over time. We've learned our mistake the hard way. Repeatedly… and, I'm afraid, never thoroughly enough."

"But isn't it exactly what you want me to do?" Ianto asks. "To tamper with time?"

"To correct a _mistake_ ," the Doctor emphasizes.

Ianto shrugs. "Seems still like tampering to me. What if I make everything worse? In my eyes it's bloody risky to lay the future of mankind into the hands of one dead man."

"You won't be alone," the Doctor promises. "I'll get you in touch with a group of people dedicated to monitor the timelines."

"You mean the Time Agency?" Ianto frowns.

"You know about the Time Agency?" the Doctor asks back in surprise.

""I met some of their people," Ianto replies evasively. "And quite frankly, I wouldn't trust them with walking my dog, let alone with watching over the future of my planet."

"They aren't the most reliable of people," the Doctor admits. "But I won't get you in touch with them. There's a different organization in the 31st century; much more professional and trustworthy. They'll train you properly for your task – should you accept."

"But wouldn't that take a lot of time?" Ianto asks. "Time that we can't afford to waste?"

The Doctor grins at him. "Mr Jones, you keep forgetting that you're currently aboard the TARDIS – one of the few ships in this universe that can move back and forth in time at will."

" _At will_ seems to be the key word here," Ianto mutters. "I'm told she doesn't always take you where you intend to go."

"No," the Doctor says seriously. "She always takes me where I _need_ to go."

~TBC~

* * *

Note: Tosh being the 9th Doctor's companion is a hint at my other stories, "Travellers' Tales" and "Without Dreams".


	2. Chapter 2: The Torchwood Files

**A MATTER OF TIME**

 **by Soledad**

For disclaimer, rating, etc., see the Introduction.

As I mentioned before, I decided to use my favourite Doctor here. Because I think he and Ianto would go on fabulously.

As for the first contact of mankind with an alien species being with Alpha Centauri VII, I follow **TOS** canon and took that particular detail from the excellent background book "The Worlds of the Federation" by Shane Johnson. That is where the excerpt from the log entry of _Icarus'_ s science officer is taken.

Zefram Cochrane was supposed to hail from Alpha Centauri VII in TOS canon. That has been thrown over in the TNG-movie "First Contact". This is my attempt to reconcile the two versions of canon, respecting the older one, as always.

* * *

 **Chapter 02 – The Torchwood Files**

Ianto spends the following weeks aboard the TARDIS, studying what there is to know about Earth history in the 21st and 22nd century. It is an interesting read, to say the least. Rather grim, too. History seems to have taken some unexpected turns after his death – or _will_ take; it is complicated to think in the correct tenses in his current situation – many of them for the worse.

Learning about the Eugenic Wars and the post-atomic horror is particularly shocking – if not entirely surprising. Ianto has been Torchwood, and working for Torchwood taught one to expect the worst.

Still, it seems that mankind would scramble back to its collective feet again, despite everything, and the first contact with the peoples of Alpha Centaury IV, and later with the Vulcans, would help them to get back on track. And in the mid-22nd century they would be ready to go out to the stars in earnest.

Ianto is particularly touched by the report of Lieutenant Commander Frank Jocasta, the science officer of the USS _Icarus_ , whose log from 2048 describes the first contact with the Centaurian vessel in space:

" _I've just spent the two most exciting days of my scientific life talking with the Alpha Centaurian physicist Zefram Cochrane. Of course, since neither speaks the other's tongue, we've relied almost exclusively on the language of mathematics… Using a math I can still only barely comprehend, he's shown that space can be visualized as moving along the curved wave of time… If this is so, man will be able to transcend the speed of light."_

Further historical data shows that Cochrane has actually relocated to Earth, to help mankind develop their first faster-than-light engine, working with Dr Henry Archer and a group of dedicated scientists to develop newer and better versions of said engine for decades. Until he left Earth one day, destination unknown, and was never seen again.

* * *

Having gone through the historic events, Ianto saves the information to his Torchwood-issue PDA device and begins to study the files of his future shipmates, starting with the senior staff. With Captain Archer, in fact, the son of Henry Archer, the main designer of the brand new ship.

He calls up the file – and freezes in shock. From the picture attached to the file _Jack_ looks back at him. He is wearing a strange uniform and what Ianto has learned are the rank insignia of a Starfleet captain, but it is undoubtedly Jack.

Or is it?

The file says "Jonathan Archer". Bewildered, Ianto calls up Archer's family background, as far back as the TARDIS can provide it – and it turns out a very thorough file. It goes back three hundred years and finally, in the 19th century data, Ianto fins something familiar: a wedding photo.

He knows that photo. He saw it once, when they thought Jack was gone for good and he had to box his personal stuff. It was been among other personal items – saddeningly few of them – in a small, battered tin box in Jack's room under his office.

This could only mean one thing: Captain Jonathan Archer is Jack's great-great-great and several more times great-grandson. A late progeny with a startling resemblance to his ancestor.

That changes things. Ianto is more than capable of rejecting the _Doctor_ 's request. It wouldn't even take much effort. But he wouldn't be able to abandon _Jack_ 's grandson… great-grandson… whatever.

Not even if the resemblance _is_ a tad creepy.

Having made the decision before even realizing it, Ianto calls up the files of the rest of the command staff, eager to learn more about the people he'd be working with. He hasn't been so excited about something since… well, since he got hired by Torchwood One, in truth.

Commander Charles Tucker III seems a great guy to be around and is apparently one of the best engineers 22nd century Earth can offer. American, of course – most people at Starfleet appear to be – but of the friendly, easy-going sort, with strong ties to his home country and family. Which, in Ianto's opinion, is a good thing. He used to hate how Torchwood had alienated him from his sister; how they were all broken, lonely people with nothing to lose.

Except Little Miss Sensitive, that is, who in truth had the sensitivity of a dead walrus and thought she knew everything better.

The science officer of the ship is an alien – a Vulcan woman who looks very much like a human. But again, so do Time Lords, and they have very little humanity in the inside, biologically _or_ metaphysically. At least Vulcans have those pointy ears and the stiff manners to set them aside. Ianto makes a mental note to read up on Vulcans and learn everything the TARDIS could offer about them. Including their language. He may not be able to learn it fully in time but just the basics could prove useful.

The armoury officer – and isn't that a silly job description? – is the only other Brit on board. Unfortunately, not a fellow Welshman and not a very sociable person either. Of course, being a former spy would explain a lot, but Ianto has the feeling that the stiff upper lip of the English and the man's natural shyness are playing equal parts in it. In any case, Lieutenant Reed won't be an easy nut to crack.

The chief helmsman is apparently a newbie – fresh out of that Academy of theirs – yet he also happens to be the most experienced pace traveller, born and raised on a cargo ship. He looks like a lot of blokes Ianto knew at Torchwood One: eager, dedicated and somewhat naïve. Hopefully, his fate will be a different one.

Ianto supposes that Ensign Mayweather went in awe of his captain for quite some time. But his knowledge about living in space may come in handy later, so Ianto makes another mental note to remind him to befriend the young man as much as it is possible. That may not be particularly difficult in Mayweather's case.

Smiling, Ianto sets aside the file and calls up that of the communications officer: a fragile-looking, classical Asian beauty who's also an exolinguist with an unusual gift for languages. She speaks about forty different ones, apparently, and has worked on perfecting something called a universal translator.

A proper little lady, then, just like Tosh, only in a different area. Her name is Hoshi. Hoshi _Sato_.

That discovery shocks Ianto a little, even though he knows that Sato isn't such a rare surname in Japan. He also knows that Tosh hasn't had any children; and he doesn't believe in reincarnation.

Not in humans anyway.

He asks for more information about Ensign Sato, especially about her family background and follows the thread back to Toshiko's younger brother, Yoshi. A brother he's always known existed but never met. It makes sense, actually; all that intelligence couldn't have been channelled to a single member of the family. And the affinity for languages clearly came from Tosh's grandfather; the one who'd worked for Bletchley Park.

There is very little resemblance between Tosh and Ensign Sato; at least not for the naked eye. But there is a haunted look in Hoshi's eyes that Ianto finds disturbingly familiar.

He calls up more details about her career – and is stunned by how history sometimes repeats itself. Tosh was blackmailed by terrorists into helping them and ended up in a secret UNIT prison, without a trial and without any hope to get out ever again.

Until Jack Harkness came and freed her to utilize her unique talents for Torchwood.

Hoshi Sato – then a lieutenant already and selected for further promotion – was blackmailed by some xenophobic group called Terra Prime to get them vital information and ended up in Guantanamo, without a proper court-martial and without any hope to be released ever again.

Until Captain Archer bailed her out because he needed her unique gift to make _Enterprise_ 's first mission possible.

Ianto tries to figure out whether Jonathan Archer has any knowledge about the connection of their ancestors but cannot find an answer. Perhaps it's just so that Archer wanted the best and the brightest for the historic virgin flight of his ship and Hoshi Sato _happened_ to be the best in her field.

Why else would have Starfleet Intelligence agreed to release her?

Inspired by a sudden idea, Ianto begins to research the families of his previous team-mates in more detail – and comes up with interesting results.

Lieutenant Reed turns out to have descended from one of Owen's first cousins, on his father's side – they even have same vague resemblance, being both short, wiry and dark-haired. And not very friendly, apparently.

One of the diagnostic engineers, one Ensign Sandra Massaro, looks like a Suzie clone, though no actual proof for them being related can be found. But again, what did they ever know about Suzie's life?

And then there is Crewman first class Elizabeth Cutler, entomologist and nurse-in-training, whose service file contains several reprimands for minor disobediences, berating her senior officers in an unseeming manner and for improper interest in her immediate superior, Dr Phlox and who would be booted out of Starfleet after the second year of _Enterprise_ 's five-year mission.

Her family tree goes back to the 21st century, to a foremother named Anwen Cooper-Williams.

One could agree that all these people serving aboard _Enterprise_ at this very time would be merely a coincidence. But Ianto knows that the universe is seldom so lazy. With Torchwood gone, fate has apparently gathered the descendants of its lost members. Because Earth clearly needs to be saved again.

Though why fate had to add Gwen's great-great-great –granddaughter or somesuch to the mix is beyond Ianto's understanding. The Cooper gene practically _ensures_ failure. At least this Crewman Cutler seems professionally capable enough, which is a relief.

Nonetheless, her presence only makes it the more important that Ianto joins the _Enterprise_ crew – if only to do damage control, should it be necessary. That is something he'd become very good at, back at Torchwood Three.

On the next day he tells the Doctor he's taking the job, risks notwithstanding. He's already dead, after all.

Well, in a manner of speaking. For everyone who really counts, at least.

* * *

The Doctor beams at him excitedly, which is telling. Whatever he might have seen in the future, he clearly wasn't all that sure Ianto would agree, in the end.

"Fantastic!" he exclaims. "The TARDIS will create for you a bullet proof identity for you. And I'll get you a suitable job, with all the necessary contacts in the 22nd century."

Ianto knows it's not an empty promise. He knows from Martha – as Jack was rarely willing to tell anything about his time with the Doctor, or about his past in general – what the TARDIS is capable of. With or without a chameleon arch involved.

He's just glad he won't have to use the arch. He's already suffered enough in his young life.

They won't live for the 22nd century at once, of course. There are preparations that need to be made. Learning Vulcan – and some Klingon, for good measure, seeing that _Enterprise_ will have semi-regular contact with the martial aliens and Hoshi might not always be at hand – and reading up on the alien races known to mankind in that century takes time. He also needs to get familiar with 22nd century customs and technology.

But, for the first time in his life, _time_ is something he has aplenty. So he studies and practices and trains his photographic memory to be able to keep up with everything he may have to face.

The Doctor estimates that it would take him about a year to learn the basics. The greater part of that year he would spend on a distant planet, populated by humans and a great variety of aliens, in the 31st century. He will become a member of an organization called the Federation Temporal Agency and will be trained to use 31st century technology as well, or else he wouldn't be able to perform his mission.

Ianto is suitably excited by that perspective. He's going to experience something no-one but Jack has experienced at Torchwood. He's looking forward to it. But he's even more eager to get aboard the _Enterprise_ when his training is finished.

That would be almost his own time, after all, and some of the people he's going to serve with will be the descendants of his team-mates… sort of. It would be almost like home.

~TBC~


	3. Chapter 3: Future Perfect

**A MATTER OF TIME**

 **by Soledad**

For disclaimer, rating, etc., see the Introduction.

The real name of canon!Daniels is from the Memory Beta website, so it is semi-canon, at the very least. I added a bit to his personal background, mostly because there's so very little of it in canon.

The specifics of the _Wells_ -class timeship are taken from the _Ex Astris Scientia_ website, the rest of the technobabble from the Memory Alpha Wiki. The original _Relativity_ and her crew are _Voyager_ canon, from the similarly titled episode.

Berlingoff Rasmussen is also a canon character, from the TNG-episode "A Matter of Time". His final fate was, of course, different from what I've come up with here. The details about him are taken from the _Star Trek Encyclopaedia_ by Denise and Mike Okuda.

* * *

 **Chapter 03 – Future Perfect**

The place in the 31st century where the Doctor takes Ianto to be trained for his crucially important task is a beautiful, ringed planet that would put Saturn to shame. Only that it is an Earth-like world with a solid surface, of course, and the rings consist of the shattered remain of its erstwhile moons.

"They had an erratic orbit and eventually collided," the Doctor explains dismissively. "It happened several hundred thousand years before the planet would be colonized; they were lifeless rocks anyway. But it was a spectacular view for certain."

Ianto doesn't ask how the Doctor would know that. Knowing him from hearsay as Ianto does, the Time Lord has probably visited the sector at that long-gone time, just to enjoy the spectacle. After hall, won't he take Rose Tyler to watch the destruction of Earth's entire system, soon?

If _that_ didn't give the term "catastrophe tourism" a whole new meaning…

The centre of the Federation Temporal Agency is situated in the main city of the planet, the name of which Ianto never learns; nor that of the city, for that matter. All he knows is that they are somewhere on the other end of the galaxy, presumably. Not that it matters. He's here to learn what he needs to bring his mission to success, not to become familiar with the place itself.

He's assigned to the assistant director of the Agency, a male genetic hybrid meant Timot Danlen, who declares to be "mostly human". Later Ianto learns that cross-breeding between humans and various alien species will become commonplace in the 31st century and starts wondering what other DNA besides human _Jack_ might carry in his genetic profile. That would explain things that mere cultural differences between his time and Ianto's could not.

If Ianto was still concerned that he'd have to cooperate with Jack's infamous Time Agency, his first glimpse of Danlen puts his concerns to rest. The man's bleak face persuades him more than any promises of the doctor ever could that the organization he's about to join has nothing to do with Jack and John Hart's bunch. Danlen is incredibly dull, and whatever Jack and John Hart might have been as Time Agents, they certainly weren't dull.

Couldn't have faked it for their lives.

From the lounge of the Agency building there's a spectacular view of the central square of the city, with what Danlen calls the Federation Monument in its centre. On the other side of the square stands the Central Library: a multi-storeyed building that houses all the digital information the Agency has collected since it came into existence. Ianto's heartbeat quickens at the thought of so much knowledge but he also knows that his access would be limited at best.

Still, he enjoys his time in the city of the future very much. Futurama, as he nicknames it after that silly animated series, since he's never told is actual name, is a colourful conglomerate of different styles in architecture – though all buildings tend to be very tall – fashion… and people. Despite it being a human colony – mostly – it is populated by dozens, perhaps hundreds of alien species coexisting with the human majority… and that's without counting the hybrids. The city alone has over a million inhabitants (almost ten per cent of them trainees like Ianto himself) and they are said to be several other cities elsewhere on the planet.

Ianto never gets to see them. Like other time-travellers, he's confined to the capital to prevent him from learning things he isn't supposed to know. He doesn't really mind. The capital is an amazing place; and besides, he's got a great deal of learning to do, which fill out his time more than adequately.

The Agency trainees all wear a uniform: a jumpsuit of some metallic-looking, dark blue jumpsuit with a high collar and bizarrely formed shoulder patches. It looks bloody uncomfortable – but, surprisingly enough, it isn't. On the contrary, it feels like a second skin, soft and form-fitting; it takes Ianto weeks _not_ to feel naked in public, and he can't shake the thought how much Jack would love this place.

A personal communicator is integrated into the shoulder patches, and a broche on the high collar indicates the date up to which each trainee is allowed to know things. Everybody in the capital seems to know those symbols, and they deal with the trainees accordingly. People obviously take the preservation of the timeline very seriously here.

Ianto is even told that a transponder and a tracing device have been subcutaneously injected into each trainee, so that the Agency can intervene quickly and effectively, should that person find his way to places they aren't supposed to be. Knowing what consequences the butterfly effect can have – though certainly different ones than human writers of the 19th and 20th century imagined – Ianto can only agree with such measures.

* * *

The Doctor leaves as soon as he's dropped Ianto off, promising to pick him up as soon as his training is finished. But Ianto is so busy with his studies, with exploring the city and with meeting people that he doesn't have the time to feel lonely. And while Timot Danlen may be a dull person, he's a very good teacher who really knows his stuff.

Ianto is fairly sure that he'll never forget the moment in which his mentor first activated the temporal observatory in his presence: a small, hand-held device that operates by projecting a holographic representation of the timestream, allowing the agents to supervise various activities being carried out by time travellers. Having worked for Torchwood has made him quite unflappable, but being surrounded by the 3D representation of the fourth dimension is something even he was awed by, and he suspects that he will be, until his last breath.

But he learns to work with it; to interpret the incredible things he gets to see. He learns to locate himself in the timestream compared with the actual time he's come from and with the century he'll be sent to. He also learns that the adversaries he will have to stop come from an earlier century than the one he is habiting now.

"They can't manifest themselves physically in the past," Danlen explains. "They can only partially materialize, to deliver information."

"Won't I be running into the same problem?" Ianto asks, because frankly, he cannot imagine time travel being possible without the TARDIS, and even the Doctor often enough ends up somewhere – or somewhen – else than intended.

Another possibility would be a Vortex manipulator, but those haven't been developed yet and won't be for another two thousand years, give or take a few decades.

Danlen gives him a bland smile. "Don't worry. In the years that followed we eventually perfected the process."

"It still sounds dangerous," Ianto says and his mentor nods in agreement.

"It is. Which is why, when time travel was first developed, it didn't take long for people to realize that laws had to be made. All the species who had the technology agreed it would only be used for research."

"But it wasn't, was it?" Ianto asks; though it isn't really a question.

The mere fact that Jack's Time Agency – which, according to the (admittedly rare) hints from Jack and even John Hart, was, or rather would be, a ruthless bunch of people – needed to be formed, is proof for _that_.

Danlen nods grimly. "Unfortunately, it wasn't. The timestream is full of groups of archaeologists, coming from all times, who observe the past using the proper procedures, set forth in the Temporal Accord."

"The _what_?"

"You'll learn about it later, in great detail. What you must know is that there are factions that ignore those procedures, and we have reason to believe that the 22nd century is a front in what we call the Temporal Cold War. What happens there could affect millennia to come. It's imperative to find out a particular agent from the opposite side and to find out who he's working for and what they're trying to do."

"And this agent," Ianto begins, "is he human? Or one of those Klingon people?"

Danlen shakes his head. "No. He belongs to a semi-reptilian species called the Suliban – a species that are on roughly the same level of technological development as humans, back in the 22nd century. Only that a certain group of them, who call themselves the Cabal, have been given genetic enhancements that go well beyond the medical knowledge they are supposed to possess."

"So you suppose they've got some help from the future?" Ianto guesses.

"We _know_ they have," Danlen replies grimly. "They have been staging attacks within the Klingon Empire... making it appear that one faction is attacking another. There is a certain Klingon courier named Klaang who was bringing proof of this to his High Council. Without that proof, the Empire could be thrown into chaos, which would dangerously change the balance of power in the 22nd century.

"Is that the ultimate goal of the Suliban?" Ianto tries to digest all the information dumped into his lap in record time.

Daniels shakes his head again. "The Cabal doesn't make decisions on its own. They're simply soldiers fighting in the Temporal Cold War. What we need to find out is who they get their instructions from. And for that, the Klingon courier, lying injured in the sickbay of the ship you'll be infiltrating, must reach his homeworld in one piece."

"Geez, thanks," Ianto mutters sarcastically. "No pressure at all, then. Just like in old times at Torchwood!"

"What the Doctor told us shows that you're fairly good at fighting impossible odds," Danlen replies calmly. "And you won't be alone. Now, why don't we try to improve your skills at using the temporal observatory? There's more than a little room for further improvement yet."

* * *

All these things – especially training with the observatory – are shocking and exciting and surprising. But all that is nothing compared with the experience of his first actual time travel. The _Relativity_ NCV-474439 H – the eighth vessel by that name – is the oldest and most famous of the Temporal Agency's remaining timeships, and she's like nothing Ianto has ever seen before.

She's most definitely nothing like the TARDIS, either.

Her predecessor, a _Wells_ -class vessel, was commissioned at the University of Copernicus, under the command of a certain Captain Braxton (whose final fate is still somewhat of an embarrassment for the Agency and therefore not spoken of). That model was already equipped with powerful sensors, capable of scanning through space-time, and with a temporal transporter capable of beaming any to individual virtually any point in space or time.

Within limits, of course. Like all technology, it, too, had its range beyond which it couldn't operate.

The current _Relativity_ has been built in the early 30th century and is very similar to her predecessor, if the archive holopictures are any indication.

"She's a bit more user-friendly, that's all," her commanding officer, a resolute, no-nonsense woman named Lois Ducane, explains. "This particular area of temporal technology hasn't been developed much further, as we've found more efficient ways of personal travel. She's still a real beauty, though – and one tough old lady at that."

Captain Ducane is related to Danlen from afar, which is probably why she's agreed to allow Ianto to go on a mission with them. One of her ancestors was the executive officer of the previous _Relativity_ and managed to save a crucially important mission when the ill-remembered Captain Braxton went mad due to temporal psychosis.

Or _will go_ mad, seen from Ianto's temporal POV. He finds it increasingly difficult to use the correct tenses. But Jack's got used to it, so he hopes that – given enough time (no pun intended) – he will, too. Eventually.

Captain Ducane is very proud of her ancestry – and of her vessel. A pride that, Ianto finds, is entirely justified.

The _Relativity_ doesn't seem to have much in common with the enormous, twin-nacelled Starfleet vessels Ianto has, in theory, become familiar with. She's small – merely 193 metres long and has only 9 decks – smooth and streamlined and looks more like the futuristic version of a submarine. While capable of faster-than-light travel the same way 22nd century Earth ships are.

Only considerably faster. The _Enterprise_ , which Ianto is supposed to infiltrate, _can_ reach warp factor 5 and hold it for a short time. The maximum travelling velocity of the _Relativity_ is warp factor 9.9798… which is the highest speed any Starfleet vessel has ever reached.

"By the 24th century, infinite velocity has been designed as warp factor 10," Captain Ducane explains. "It was considered to be unattainable by conventional means. Because of this, extremely high warp factors are indicated with fractional values between 9 and 10."

"Has the warp 10 barrier been ever broken?" Ianto asks.

He's never been very good at physics, but working for Torchwood and travelling with the Doctor, even for a short while, has taught him that there's nothing absolute in the universe. Or in any other universe, for that matter.

"It has been tried… with various levels of success," Captain Ducane replies with a shrug. "Different attempts to build a functional transwarp drive have been – or, from your temporal POV, _will be_ – made in the 23rd and 24th century. However, none of those engines actually _reached_ infinite velocity; they just got _closer_ to it than the traditional warp drive."

"Is such a thing possible at all?"

"In theory, yes. Theoretically, should anyone be able to break the warp 10 barrier, they'd be present at all points of the universe at the same time."

Ianto shakes his head in bewilderment.

"That's beyond my comprehension. Why were those tests abandoned, though? I mean from where _you_ 're standing, you guys have had at least seven centuries to perfect that drive."

"And we would have," Captain Ducane agrees, "had it not been discovered that the effect causes hyper-evolution in the human body."

Ianto gives her a blank look. "Meaning what?"

"Meaning that the test persons turned into mindless amphibian creatures and started breeding like crazy," Danlen, who's also present at this discussion, answers dryly.

Ianto decides he doesn't need to know the gory details and drops the topic at once.

* * *

But the _Relativity_ is still a marvel. She may not have the sentience and the ability of interdimensional travel like the TARDIS, but where the looks are considered, she'd definitely be the winner. A fact that Ianto definitely isn't going to tell the Doctor, but facts are facts.

Unlike the cluttered control room of the TARDIS, the bridge of the _Relativity_ is large and airy, consisting of clean, elegantly curved lines, and part of its ceiling is made of transparent aluminium, through which one can see the cosmos outside like from an observation dome. The dominating colour is blue, followed by beiges and greys and silver highlights, and all the touch-screens and displays and viewscreens show three-dimensional holographic images.

The ship operates with a skeleton crew of twenty that, at first sight, seems to wear identical black uniforms. In the right light, however, one can make out the difference between dark maroon, charcoal grey and midnight blue – with the corresponding, asymmetrical shoulder patches – depending on which department the individual crewmembers belong.

The crew is mostly human – at least they look human, though Ianto's certain that some of them have got alien genes included in their genetic make-up, just like Danlen – save the helmsman, who looks like a bipedal dinosaur, complete with a bonecrest parting his bare skull. Unless it's a female, of course. It's impossible to tell by their looks alone.

The sight makes Ianto miss Myfanwy, though. He never learned what's become of their pet pterodactyl after the destruction of the Hub, and he seriously doubts he ever will.

Captain Ducane entrusts Ianto to her executive officer, a young, vaguely Asian-looking bloke whose unusually pale skin and slightly pointed ears suggest a few Vulcanoid ancestors. Green Vulcan blood makes even hybrids look very pale; and he has the detached, somewhat aloof manner Vulcans are known for.

Ianto would like to know how it's come to the cross-breeding between humans and other species (and, more importantly, _when_ ). Given their different biochemistry, it couldn't have been easy to produce offspring to begin with, let alone _fertile_ offspring, as it's unlikely they'd have chosen to breed barren hybrids. I wouldn't be logical, and though Ianto's knowledge of Vulcans is theoretical at best, he knows they wouldn't do anything that couldn't be justified by logical means.

But there's not time to satisfy his curiosity, not at the moment anyway. The _Relativity_ is about to depart on a mission and he needs to play close attention to how such missions are handled.

They go back – or, from Ianto's personal POV, forward – to the 24th century to retrieve a rogue time traveller – a human one – and his stolen equipment belonging to yet another time period.

"The man's name is Berlingoff Rasmussen," the _Relativity_ 's executive officer explains. "He likes to call himself _Professor_ Rasmussen, claiming to be a historian from the 26th century."

"But he isn't, is he?" Ianto guesses.

The lieutenant shakes his head.

"No; in truth he's a 22nd century con artist from New Jersey and had stolen his time travel pod from an _actual_ 26th century researcher."

"What for?" Ianto asks, feeling bad news to come.

The lieutenant shrugs.

"He was apparently hoping to steal artefacts of 24th century technology. His plan was to return to the 22nd century, where he used to be a less than successful inventor, and then grow wealthy by claiming to have invented those devices."

"And where is he now?" Ianto asks.

"In the brig of the _Enterprise_ – D, the 5th successor of your future ship," the lieutenant explains. "Captain Picard's managed to reveal his true identity in time and is about to have him taken under custody to Starbase 214 where, he finds, Rasmussen would be helpful in some legitimate historical research."

"That's not such a bad idea, actually," Ianto comments.

"Under normal circumstances it wouldn't be," the lieutenant allows. "But in the light of the current situation back in the 22nd century, considering the drastic changes that are taking place at this very moment, we simply cannot afford to let him talk about his own time."

"Because what he remembers might differ from what history knows about it in the 24th century," Ianto guesses.

The lieutenant gives him an appraising look. "Very good. We'll make an able temporal agent of you yet."

Ianto pulls a face. "Joy. Just what've been dreamed of since my early childhood. Speaking of which, what's happened to the stolen time travel pod?"

"Such pods had a timed return mechanism," the lieutenant explains. "Captain Picard had Rasmussen held at gunpoint until the pod returned to the 26th century automatically."

"That's good, isn't it?" Ianto doesn't really understand what the problem is.

"Yes and no," the lieutenant replies with a sigh. "We still have to pick it up and take it back to the 22nd century, so that its original traveller can board it again and return to his own time."

"We're going to the 26th century?" Ianto is getting excited.

What little he's heard about that time period shows that it was – will be – a time of great discoveries and expansion. For Earth and mankind above all else.

"You won't be able to leave the ship," the lieutenant warns him. "In that period, people don't have the failsafes to protect the timeline as we do."

Ianto nods. "I know. It's still exciting, even watched on the viewscreens. What about Rasmussen, though? Are we taking him back to the 22nd century?"

The lieutenant shakes his head. "No, he's learned too much about the 24th century already; and he can't be trusted to handle that knowledge in a responsible manner."

"What _are_ we doing with him, then?" Ianto asks. "You said we can't leave him in the 24th century, either."

"True," the lieutenant agrees. "Which is why we're bringing him back here. _Our_ historians can use his memories to help restore the timeline – and _you_ can discuss 22nd century trivia with him. That might prove useful."

"I'm fairly sure he'll be lying through his teeth," Ianto comments dryly," and we won't be able to tell _when_ he's lying, unless you have one of those alien lie detector chairs that make the heads of eighty per cent of the species they're used on explode."

"No need for that," the lieutenant replies. "We've got something better: telepaths."

"Actually, I find _that_ a lot worse," Ianto says grimly. "But it's your show."

"You're right; it is," the lieutenant replies. "And as you'll see, we're quite efficient at dealing with such things."

* * *

Within two days, the mission is completed. Ianto isn't allowed to leave the _Relativity_ , either in the 24th or in the 26th century, but Captain Ducane takes him with her to the 22nd century to pick up the stranded 26th century historian. They reach Earth barely a minute after Rasmussen had stolen the time travel pod and replace it within its traveller noticing that it was gone in the first place.

Afterwards Ianto has indeed long discussions with Rasmussen. Not so much for the information; although, of course, the man can tell him minute details of 22nd century life not even the Temporal Agency is familiar with. The truth is, Rasmussen reminds him of Jack – of the young, mortal Jack he never knew. The one who'd conned his way through space and time – until he met the Doctor.

Not that Rasmussen would have anything in common with Jack. Not beyond being a con man, that is. And still, Ianto can't help liking him… at least a little bit.

"He may be a con man, but he isn't an idiot," he tells Danlen. "He can think fast on his feet and use his knowledge for the greatest effect. He'll be definitely wasted here."

Danlen nods. "I know. We'll try to re-train him; put him through rehabilitation and all that. If we succeed, we might even reintegrate him into his own time – he might come in handy for you. It depends on him."

A few weeks later, though, the conversations with Rasmussen end, as Ianto finishes his training in the 31st century. He's learned everything he could. It's time for him to begin with his mission.

He has made no closer friends in Futurama – all trainees are encouraged _not_ to, as they'll have to leave eventually – so it's only his mentor he needs to say good-bye to when the Doctor arrives to pick him up.

"How long has it been for _you_?" he asks the Time Lord

"A little more than two years," the Doctor replies. "I've met your Toshiko – what an extraordinary young woman. I greatly enjoyed having her as a travelling companion- It's such a shame that she's lost for mankind."

He doesn't mention Jack, so Ianto calculates that for him it's after the Slitheen invasion in yet before the London Blitz. Ianto has to agree with him where Tosh is considered, though.

"Yes, it is," he says. "But she told us in her recoded message that she'd loved her life and her work, and that is, at least, _some_ comfort. I wish I had left my sister a message like that – even though it would have been a lie."

"No use to cry over spilt milk now," the Doctor says in a surprisingly compassionate manner. "You have a mission to complete; probably the most important one of your life. Are you ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," Ianto shrugs.

"Very well, then," the Doctor ushers him into the TARDIS. "Let's go. The target is the 22nd century, the year 2151, Earth's orbital spacedock – the starship _Enterprise_."

He runs around the control console, pushing buttons and throwing levers like a maniac, and the TARDIS dematerializes with the usual loud, grinding noise.

~TBC~


	4. Chapter 4: Eerie Reunions

**A MATTER OF TIME**

 **by Soledad**

For disclaimer, rating, etc., see the Introduction.

The events of this chapter take place in a time frame of about six days. I skipped describing the launch itself, as I couldn't have said anything new about it.

For visuals: I decided to give Chef the appearance of Jonathan Frakes, who replaced him in the final episode of the series, just for fun.

Some lines of dialogue are taken from "Broken Bow", the pilot episode of the "Enterprise" series. Brownie points for those who can tell where the "mudfoot" reference comes from. ;)

* * *

 **Chapter 04 – Reunions of the Eerie Kind**

Ianto's first impression of _Enterprise_ is a strange mix of awe and disappointment. The lean, masculine ship has nothing in common with the five-star space cruisers he's seen in science fiction series or films, although it does have an airy, elegant silhouette with its saucer-shaped primary hull and the twin nacelles attached to the secondary one.

It is unquestionably the best and fastest spaceship mankind has built so far, but it also seems rather unfinished in places. The lack of wall panelling and floor carpeting is the lesser part of the problems, though. The greater part of it is that the engineering crew swarming all over the decks is obviously in desperate hurry to put the finishing touches to the ship to be ready for the pre-scheduled launch.

The Doctor has arranged for Ianto – via TARDIS – the job of the quartermaster, in the rank of a Chief Petty Officer, which is the highest a non-commissioned officer can reach within the structure of Starfleet. It was a bit like the choice between Torchwood and UNIT, and Ianto didn't want to be part of the military. Not any more than it was inevitable when serving in the space fleet.

His job has marked similarities with his duties at Torchwood Three, and he likes it that way. It gives him the chance to have his quarters to himself, without having to share it like other non-commissioned personnel has, and he even has a small office from where he can organize the myriad small, invisible things no-one notices but without which no group of people can function smoothly.

Granted, the quartermaster's office does have a bit of a claustrophobic feel to it. It's barely larger than the small kitchen used to be behind the tourist information shop above the Hub; the fully computerized desk and the chair behind it fill half the room.

There is little chance for personal touches, but Ianto manages to squeeze a small table into the corner next to the door leading to his quarters. On this small, bolted-down table, fastened against all eventualities, is proudly displayed the coffee machine he's salvaged from the ruins of the Hub and adapted to 22nd century technology with the Doctor's help. This was his only condition when taking the job and the Doctor gave in, after many dramatic eyerolls.

Of course, the Doctor only ever drank tea – what did he know about the necessity of the right equipment for a perfectly brewed coup of coffee?

Ianto's new shipmates were a bit surprised when they spotted the ancient-looking apparatus with its shiny copper and steel parts, dominating the quartermaster's tiny office.

"We do have beverage dispensers in the mess hall, you know," Chef said, only half-jokingly, his broad, bearded face split by an ear-to-ear grin.

Ianto just smiled and brewed him the perfect cup. Chef never said a word against the presence of the "prehistoric monstrosity", as he called it, again.

Word about the quartermaster's fantastic coffee has spread on board like wildfire, but Ianto is determined _not_ to become the coffee boy again. He has a more important task on this mission. But he does provide the engineering crew with their caffeine influx cos they're vital for the ship to be ready at the impossible deadline, and Commander Tucker doesn't even try to hide his gratitude. He's not such a coffee addict as Jack used to be but close to it; _and_ he can appreciate _good_ coffee instead of the caffeine-infused tar the beverage dispensers produce.

Since he also doubles as the executive officer, he visits Ianto's office twice a day to discuss things of importance with him. And if they share a refreshing cup of coffee and a bit of friendly banter about rugby versus American football, so what? They're both responsible for crew morale, and Commander Tucker needs a chance to vent, too.

They're supposed to launch in three days and Ianto still has to meet any others of the command staff yet. He knows of their requirements, of course. He's seen to it that the environmental controls in Subcommander T'Pol's quarters got readjusted, so that she can raise the temperature and the artificial gravity to the Vulcan norm.

He's acquired the necessities for Captain Archer's dog, so that the Beagle would be comfortable in the captain's quarters and won't be able to escape unnoticed. He briefly wonders how Archer has gained permission to bring a dog with him, but since it's a done deed, he has additional security locks installed, so that Porthos won't endanger himself – or anyone else – unwillingly.

He's switched quarters between Hoshi and Ensign Porter, so that she could live on the port side of the ship as she's used from earlier. He also purchased a bonsai for her: a small juniper tree, to liven up her currently rather bleak quarters. Having known Tosh and what imprisonment had done to her, he's certain that Hoshi would need a great deal of cheering up and careful handling, too.

But he still hasn't seen any of the command staff in person, aside from Commander Tucker.

He doesn't really mean the delay, though. Adjusting to the 22nd century, after having spent almost a year in the far future, takes effort, even for him; and he needs to get used to the fact that he's not Ianto Jones anymore. His name is Ifan Daniels now and his family tree can be traced back to his niece, Mica, just to give him some authentic background.

He's fine with that, but it needs some getting used to. He can wait to face the echoes of his past, honestly.

* * *

It's still something of a shock when Captain Archer finally shows up in his office, though. The resemblance to Jack – to the younger, still mortal Jack he's seen in the Torchwood Archives, the one travelling with the Ninth Doctor – is gutting.

 _This_ version of Jack has all of his forefather's good looks and devastating charm, without the burden of millennia weighing on his shoulders. He does have his own burdens and grievances, sure – who doesn't? – but those are normal, man-sized burdens. Of course, he only has one lifetime to deal with them. He won't bounce back when killed, either, so Ianto swears to himself to do his utmost to prevent him from getting killed.

It's a bit like having a mortal Jack around – without the curse of immortality but also without the mystery that made Jack… well, _Jack_. If Ianto was worried about falling for him before they met, he is no longer. Jonathan Archer may have Jack's look, even those damned 51st century pheromones can be smelled, despite having been diluted for generations, but he has nothing of what made Jack really Jack: the knowledge, the experience, the past, the mentality of a far future – the tragic losses.

It's odd to consider that, despite coming from an earlier, less advanced time, Ianto knows more about alien menace and what it can do to than every human being on Earth counted together. This is an advantage he has to and intends to use on behalf of his shipmates.

If only he could win Archer's trust and make him listen!

His friends, including Commander Tucker, call Jonathan Archer "Jack". It's common practice in America; a practice Ianto is careful _not_ to adopt, not even mentally. It is of vital importance to remember in every waking moment that Jack Harkness and Jonathan Archer are two different persons. Otherwise he would instinctively expect Archer to be capable of the same things as Jack; and that could have devastating consequences for them all.

There's another trait Jonathan Archer shares with his immortal forefather: the love for Coffee. Commander Charles ("call me Trip") Tucker III has clearly vexed poetics about Ianto's coffee, because the first thing the captain asks of his new quartermaster is to brew him a cup.

Ianto does so, and Jonathan Archer is beyond impressed with the results. He declares Ianto's coffee "orgasmic" and inquires if it would be possible to be treated to the magic liquid on the regular basis. Like once a day, at the very least.

" _Once_ a day," Ianto emphasizes. "I'm not your steward, Captain; and I have extensive duties on this ship."

Archer seems content with that and leaves with a big, white smile on his face; a smile that's so much like Jack's happy grin that Ianto has a hard time to collect himself again.

* * *

Lieutenant Reed is the next to show up in the quartermaster's office. For a supposedly buttoned-up Englishman from an upper class family, he's quite obviously mad at _somebody_ – Ianto just can't guess at _whom_. He certainly can't remember having done anything to deserve the armoury officer's ire.

"How can I help you, Lieutenant?" he asks politely.

"You can tell those idiots of the spare parts department to actually _read_ the requests sent to them," Reed fumes. "I asked for plasma coils and they sent me a case of valve sealants. There's no chance I can have these weapons online in three days when I don't get the necessary parts!"

Ianto knows about that, of course. He already had a rather irritated conversation with the people responsible for the mistake. But he finds it more prudent to play the naïveté card.

"We're just taking an injured man back to his homeworld," he says innocently. "Why do we need weapons?"

The look Reed gives him reveals that he'd just be mentally labelled as one of the idiots.

"Didn't you read the profile report on those Klingons?" the armoury officer asks wryly. "Apparently, they sharpen their teeth before they go into battle!"

This is probably supposed to make Ianto shudder, but after having been mauled by Weevils uncounted times he doesn't even blink. These people really have no idea…

"Have you tried to ask Commander Tucker's help?" he asks instead.

Reed pulls a face. "Repeatedly. He said, and I quote," he assembles a rather poor imitation of Commander Tucker's characteristic Southern drawl. "Keep your shirt on, Lieutenant. Your equipment'll be here in the morning."

"I assume the delay would turn your working schedule upside down," Ianto says with a bland face.

He happens to know that Reed's plasma coils will arrive within the hour, but he doesn't want people to expect the impossible of him all the time. He won't be able to solve _every_ problem once they're out in deep space.

Reed rolls his eyes. " _Of course_ it would, what do you think?"

"I _think_ I'll be able to negotiate with the people in question," Ianto replies calmly. "I'll contact you as soon as I've heard anything of them."

Reed clearly isn't happy with that promise – he seems to be almost as ill-tempered as Owen used to be on a bad day – but Ianto is just smiling at him blandly, so he growls something and leaves.

Ianto thinks a few unfriendly thoughts about genetics and returns to his work. He's requested a meeting with Ensign Mayweather, and until that he has a lot of small tasks to finish.

* * *

They meet in the mess hall; a place that Ianto chose specifically so that he can watch the crew with one eye while they are talking. Keeping tab on crew morale is very important, especially as there won't be a ship's counselor on board (they won't be instated until the 24th century) and the chief medical officer is an alien who might or might not understand the human reaction to prolonged stress.

That's something _Ianto_ is very familiar with, though, and he intends to look out for the slightest signs of it, so that Dr Phlox could deal with the problem in time, should it emerge.

At the moment the mess hall is moderately busy. A group of engineers is sitting at one of the long metal tables, having dinner, and a bunch of security officers at another one. In one corner a group of smaller tables, seating four, is reserved for the senior officers, and there is where Ensign Mayweather is already waiting for Ianto.

Strictly seen, non-commissioned personnel aren't allowed to use them, but a chief petty officer is _almost_ a senior officer, and the quartermaster belongs to the command staff.

Sort of.

Besides, Ianto is about to sit with Ensign Mayweather, who _is_ the senior helmsman, so there…

He crosses the mess hall, returning the greetings in his usual, friendly manner, and sits down to Mayweather's table. "Thanks for meeting me, Ensign."

"Travis, please," Mayweather grins, almost shyly. "I'm not senior enough to stand on ceremony yet – hope I'll never be, to be honest."

Ianto grins back at him. "And I'm not even a commissioned officer, so feel free to call me Ifan. Or Ianto, if you like."

"Ianto?" Mayweather tries to repeat, doesn't get it quite right. "What kind of name is _that_?"

"A Welsh one," Ianto replies. "Ifan is the Welsh version of John, so I guess Ianto would be the same as Johnny. In any case, that's what my family and friends used to call me back home."

Which is a much greater distance, both in space and time, than the young ensign could even begin to imagine.

"Are we friends, then, sir?" Mayweather asks carefully.

He may outrank Ianto, even as an ensign, as commissioned officers automatically outrank non-comms, but the quartermaster is an important person on a ship and is generally much respected.

"I certainly hope that we will be, eventually," Ianto smiles at him. "I intend to put your experience to good use."

Mayweather blinks in surprise. "In what way, if I may ask?"

"We're heading for uncharted territory," Ianto explains. "That's what you space boomers do all your lives. I want to learn from you how we can get supplies, deal with pirates, avoid unwanted encounters – everything about surviving in deep space."

"Hmmm," Mayweather says, clearly amused. "In that case, meet me after your duty shift here," he calls up the ship's schematics on his PADD and marks a specific spot, somewhere between the gravitation generators and the bow plate.

"What for?" Ianto asks in surprise.

The ensign grins like a loon. "You'll see. It's an initiation ritual for mudfoots. Much like it used to be on the sailing ships of old, in earlier centuries."

" _Mudfoots_?" Ianto echoes.

"Planet-born people," Mayweather clarifies. "Don't worry, you'll like it."

Ianto's not so sure about that. "You're not going to toss me out of an airlock, are you?"

The ensign laughs. "Of course not! You're to go-to guy on this ship; you're more important for us than the Captain himself… well, almost," he corrects himself. "Trust me, it's gonna be fun!"

Ianto doubts that his interpretation of "fun" matches that of Ensign Mayweather but he cannot afford to back off. He realizes that somehow this is the first test he hast to master aboard the _Enterprise_. He's only hoping it won't turn out as insane and sadistic than the ones in certain college circles.

* * *

When he reaches the appointed place of meeting several hours later – it's merely a crossing of corridors, there are dozens if not hundreds of them all over the ship – he can't see Mayweather anywhere… which is annoying. He's worked like crazy all day – post-launch organization is hell on logistics, especially as they had to launch a lot earlier than originally planned – and he's tired. Definitely not in the mood for silly pranks.

He's just about to turn on his heels and leave when he can hear Mayweather's voice, floating somewhere above his head.

"Up here, sir!"

He turns in the direction the voice is coming from… and is baffled. Mayweather is sitting upside down _on the ceiling_ , not showing the slightest sign of discomfort and has clearly been reading something on his PADD.

"Ugh," Ianto says intelligently; this is what must have been felt to be Gwen – not a feeling he likes. "You're upside down, Ensign."

Talk about stating the glaringly obvious. But it definitely isn't what he'd have expected.

"That I am," Mayweather agrees cheerfully, clearly used that kind of reaction, which makes Ianto feel marginally better. Knowing he's not the only idiot on board helps.

"Is there any particular reason why you're doing this?" he asks.

Mayweather nods, which, hanging upside down from the ceiling, is a rather bizarre sight.

"Zero-G can be very relaxing," he explains. When I was a kid, we called it _the sweet spot_. Every ship's got one."

"Sweet spot?" Ianto repeats, X-rated memories of what _that_ meant when one was affiliated with Jack Harkness resurfacing uninvitedly in his mind. He hopes he hasn't turned beet red, cos that would be hard to explain.

"The location where the artificial gravity field becomes inverted, leading to a reversal of the vertical orientation relative to the rest of the ship," Mayweather explains; obviously, this is an old hat for him. "It's usually about halfway between the grav-generator and the bow plate. Come, get up here! You're not counted as a proper space traveller until you've tried it."

Ianto's still more than a little doubtful, but it seems reasonably safe and he doesn't want to lose the ensign's respect.

"How do I do it?" he asks.

Mayweather grins encouragingly and points to a thin conduit that crosses below him. "Grab hold of that conduit first."

Ianto reaches for the conduit, still suspicious that this may be some elaborate practical joke, after all.

"Now swing your legs up," Mayweather instructs.

Ianto hesitates. He knows, intellectually, that if there's indeed a zero G zone, he _can_ do it, without getting injured or making a fool of himself. In theory. But he's always been too careful to test unproved theories.

Mayweather rolls his expensive eyes with tolerant amusement.

"Mudfoots," he mutters good-naturedly, and there's unmistakable pity in his tone. "What are you afraid of? I told you it's safe… and that you'll like it. Now, swing your legs already!"

Ianto remembers Jack and how he brazenly stormed headfirst into everything (which, admittedly, got him killed half the times) and how he, Ianto, always envied that spontaneity (even if it's got _him_ killed by the 456) – and swings his legs up.

To his amazement, they stay up. His body instinctively curls itself into a foetal position and he's actually _floating_ in zero G! He makes a surprised noise and Mayweather laughs.

"Now let go," he instructs.

Ianto releases his grip – and remains floating in mid-air. It is a feeling of such incredible freedom that he could cry of the sheer joy of it. Nothing he's gone through at Torchwood, or in the 31st century for that matter, can ever come close to _this_.

He's grinning from ear to ear as he tries to turns, so that his head would be up – not that it would really count in zero G, it's just what he's used to as a human being. Unfortunately, he doesn't have full control of his body under such circumstances and would crash onto the ceiling where Mayweather is sitting, if the ensign didn't reach out to stop his momentum.

"It takes practice," Mayweather says apologetically and helps him into a sitting position next to himself. "Well? Do you like it or do you like it?"

"It's incredible," Ianto admits, still grinning in delight.

"This is nothing," Mayweather says. "Wait till you've slept in zero G!"

"Slept?" Ianto echoes in surprise.

Mayweather grins. "It's like being back in the womb."

The mere idea of _that_ fills Ianto with violent claustrophobia but he decides not to voice it. It is understandable that space boomers would find small, confined spaces safe and comforting. Mayweather probably had a hard time getting used to life in an open, natural environment.

"Have you been to many inhabited planets while growing up?" he then asks.

Mayweather nods. "At least a dozen… or more. The farthest we ever got was to Trillius Prime. Took me the fourth, fifth and sixth grades to get there. I've also been to Draylax and both the Teneebian Moons. What about you?"

"I've only been to one inhabited planet besides Earth and I'm afraid that was a classified mission," Ianto confesses.

That earns him a wary look from the young ensign. "Are you from Starfleet Intelligence or what?"

"Of course not!" Ianto laughs. I'm just a bureaucrat, remember? But even people on classified missions need to eat and to have clean clothes and stuff, and that's what I do basically everywhere I'm assigned to a job."

Which is a lie, of course, at least in this particular case, but a convincing one, as it contains a great deal of truth. Then one of the names Mayweather has mentioned rings a bell. One of those planets has featured in Jack's outrageous stories.

"I've heard the women on Draylax have..."

Mayweather is nodding before he could finish the sentence. "Three... it's true."

Ianto can't decide whether to be impressed that another one of Jack's seemingly hilarious tales has just turned out to be one. "You know that first-hand?"

Mayweather grins; it is a grin that would make Jack proud. "First-hand, second-hand, and third-hand."

Ianto grins back, although in _his_ grin there's a great deal of sadness and nostalgia.

"I guess growing up a boomer has its advantages," he shifts positions. "Well, thank you for initiating me into the elated circle of proper space travellers, Ensign."

"Travis," the young man corrects. "Or I'll keep 'sirring' you until your ears start to bleed."

"Travis it is," Ianto agrees. "Now, how do I get down there again? Captain Archer is having dinner with Commander Tucker and our Vulcan lady, and I must see that they're served properly."

"But you're not the captain's personal steward," Mayweather points out, helping him to get back down to solid ground.

"True; and I won't let him get used to it. But this is the first such dinner since we left Earth, and given how both the captain and Commander Tucker think about Vulcans, it may be helpful to be there and smooth over the waves," Ianto shakes himself and pulls his uniform to its place. "Besides, I've talked Chef into preparing Vulcan food and I'd like to see how it turns out. Might even give the leftovers a try," he adds, grinning.

"You're a vegetarian?" Mayweather asks in surprise.

Ianto shrugs. "Not on principle. I just had a very bad experience a couple of years ago that put me off eating meat ever since. Perhaps one day I'll get over it; but even if I won't… there are worse things than eating vegetables for the rest of my life."

Mayweather agrees with that statement and they part ways to go about their respective businesses.

* * *

The dinner at the captain's mess room is every bit as awkward as Ianto expected it to be. Both men are clearly holding grudges against the Vulcans and don't really bother to hide it. Commander Tucker behaves like a pig – Ianto is reminded of Jack's table manners at his worst – and Captain Archer, while better mannered than his ancestor, uses every opportunity to challenge his new science officer, who reacts with an attitude that only makes things worse. At least she finds the food 'adequate', which, as Ianto was told, is the highest praise one can expect from a Vulcan.

 _And_ she's sexy as hell – in a detached, icy way no human woman could ever be. Ianto's wondering if she knows how that catsuit of a uniform she's wearing affects practically every male on board (and even some of the females, apparently), and if she'd chose to wear a regular Starfleet uniform is she knew. Vulcans clearly pay considerably less attention to one's physical form – which is only logical, as it's a transient state, so it makes sense that they'd prefer clothing that is practical, before everything else, and a uniform with thermal lining is eminently practical when one has to serve in a much colder environment than one is used to.

Unfortunately, humans are less than practical in that aspect. Ianto can tell that both Captain Archer and Commander Tucker are… _interested_ , to phrase it politely, despite their general feelings towards Vulcans and their meddling with Earth's affairs. He even caught Lieutenant Reed nearly drooling over their science officer, although the armoury officer is a rather cold and detached person himself – almost like a Vulcan, in truth. On the other hand, he's related to Owen, of course, which would explain things.

Ianto briefly considers warning the Vulcan about the whole thing, but in the end he decides against it. T'Pol has been assigned to the Vulcan embassy on Earth for several years, previously to this mission. She had enough time to learn what human males are like. Besides, she's a grown woman; she can take care of herself. Even against Captain Archer who seems to have inherited Jack's forceful personality as well as a great deal of his devastating charm.

It would be interesting to see how _Jack_ and T'Pol would react to each other, Ianto thinks while collecting the used dishes and promising to deliver Chef the compliments. It would probably be a disaster – Jack could be worse than Archer and Tucker together. On the other hand, he did always have the knack of getting what he needed, even from the most unlikely people, and Ianto feels woefully inadequate, burdened by the task of saving mankind's future on his own.

But this is something he has to do, regardless if he manages to win Archer's cooperation or not. That's what Torchwood was about, and now that he's the only one left, he must see to get it done.

Later, in the galley, he does sample Vulcan food indeed and finds it tasty, even if a little bland. Vulcans are clearly as subdued in their culinary tastes as in everything else. Still, with a few spices added, this is a cuisine he could get used to.

"You've outdone yourself, Chef," he says and the round, bearded face of their head cook shines with pride. "If you decide to quit Starfleet and open a Vulcan restaurant somewhere call me and I'll take over the management. With our combined skills we'd get obscenely rich in no time."

"Only if you make the coffee," Chef replies, grinning, and slips him a tin box with freshly made biscuits. "Here, take these with you. You'll need something to snack on while wrestling paperwork into its knees."

Ianto thanks him and returns to his office. Serving at the captain's mess has disturbed his schedule and there's indeed an ungodly amount of paperwork to deal with. It promises to be a long night (or a very short one, where actual sleep is considered), but he's used to it. He used to live on even less sleep while working for Torchwood Three.

~TBC~


	5. Chapter 5: You Are Not Alone

**A Matter of Time**

 **by Soledad**

For disclaimer, rating, etc., see the Introduction.

Some lines of dialogue are taken from "Broken Bow", the pilot episode of the "Enterprise" series.

Re: PM Jones and Yvonne Hartman being right: I mean that they realized that mankind can't sit around waiting for the Doctor to save Earth whenever some trouble arises and took action to enable mankind to protect itself. I happen to agree with them. You're free to disagree.

I skimmed over the main events of them pilot episode in this chapter, as they're generally known by now, and focused on Ianto and his discoveries instead. Don't worry, canon events _will_ happen eventually.

* * *

 **Chapter 05 – "You Are Not Alone** "

It takes Ianto several days after launch to find his way to Sickbay. He's planned to do so since the beginning, if only to meet their alien doctor and his exotic creatures in person – not to mention to check on the mysterious Klingon courier whose safety he's supposed to ensure – but there always were more urgent things to deal with. On the fourth day, though he manages to take an hour-long break and uses it to pay the medical facilities a visit.

When he enters, Dr Phlox and his assistants are still in the process of getting organized. The early launch has turned their schedule upside down, too, and they have to arrange themselves as well as they can while keeping an eye on their patient.

At first Ianto was a bit taken aback by the unorthodox methods – not to mention the weird menagerie – of the Denobulan doctor but, as Phlox is known to have declared repeatedly, if one is going to embrace new worlds, one must try to embrace new ideas – a statement that Ianto finds is particularly true for _him_.

In his previous life Ianto dealt with two sorts of aliens: barely sentient beasts like the Weevils – although Owen would probably disagree with him about _that_ – or intelligent but homicidal… _things_ like the Daleks or the Cybermen. The mere idea of a _friendly_ alien was incomprehensible for Torchwood – well, unless one counted those spidery mouse things Jack used to hate so much. But those were simply animals, barely suited to make pets… if somebody was into such creatures.

The only _humanoid_ aliens he ever saw (or heard of) were the Time Lords… and he won't call _those_ particularly _friendly_. Not after The Year That Never Was. Of which only he could remember, as the others left him behind to watch the Hub while on their wild goose hunt in the Himalayas.

Yet it seems that things have indeed profoundly changed in the twenty-first century. Now, wherever he looks, he sees aliens that basically look like humans, save for the pointy ears or the bumps or ridges on their foreheads.

Oh, he knows that looks can be deceiving. Weren't they in the case of the Time Lords, after all? He knows that Vulcans, Denobulans and the other bipedal species look very different in the inside. Different enough that a spontaneous cross-breeding would be impossible; he knows that a great deal of medical research was necessary to create hybrids like Timot Danlen. But it's the humanoid looks that fill him with quiet unease.

In his previous life, things were much simpler. The aliens where the enemy: a simple threat or an invading force, and it was up to Torchwood and UNIT to deal with them. Meaning that they were usually killed before they could have wiped out humanity.

The Doctor was the only exception and Ianto has mixed feelings about him, too. About his tenth version, at the very least. He knows Nine is different, but that doesn't mean less dangerous. On the contrary.

And yet he found it easier to deal with them. They belonged to mankind's childhood. They were the monsters under the bed - easily recognizable. Standing in cautious distance from the Klingon's bed, though, Ianto feels his unease increase as he looks down at the seven-foot barbarian with his dark skin, wild mane and prominent ridges.

This is a species that lives for war and conflict – not so far from what many human cultures have done during their social evolution. Only than Klingons are a species with faster-than-light starships and ray guns and a history of countless millennia that has made them to what they are now.

And yet they still sharpen their teeth before going to battle.

There are others like them, Ianto knows. And he realizes for the first time that mankind has gone beyond the phase of the monsters under the bed. They have to fight _adult_ adversaries now, threats that cannot be repelled by a single, exuberant alien in a blue police box.

 _These_ enemies can't be sent away by waving a sonic screwdriver and threatening them with the Shadow Proclamation – not that _that_ has ever done much good for the continuing existence of Earth.

From now on, mankind will have to fend for itself. It's a bitterly ironic thing that Prime Minister Harriet Jones and Torchwood One's Director Yvonne Hartman have proven right, after all, and the Doctor was wrong; even though the incarnation that has saved Ianto and brought him to this time and place will never know.

Ianto shakes his head and returns to the present. He asks Dr Phlox if they need any help in Sickbay, but the Denobulan cheerfully tells him that they have everything under control. So Ianto simply nods and leaves Sickbay; they are about to test the limits of the new engines while they are in unpopulated space, and that is not something he'd miss, unless he absolutely has to.

* * *

This is his first visit on the Bridge, as duty usually calls him to other places. But Captain Archer wants the entire senior staff to witness the historical moment when they'd break the Warp 5 barrier and as the quartermaster Ianto _is_ the senior non-comm member of the crew.

He welcomes the opportunity to watch the descendants of his old team work together in this moment. In a way he sees this as partially Torchwood's success as well.

Only that it doesn't work according to expectations. (Things rarely do.) Hoshi is the first to notice that something is wrong, her extraordinary hearing more sensitive than any high-tech equipment, but in true Sato fashion, she gets patronized and her concerns dismissed out of hand.

Ianto fights the urge to punch Lieutenant Reed and Subcommander T'Pol in the face on her behalf. Just as he often wanted to hit Owen and Gwen for their lousy treatment of Tosh.

In the end Hoshi proves to be right, of course. Because as soon as Dr Phlox's patient awakes in Sickbay, _Enterprise_ gets infiltrated by the Suliban and the is Klingon taken… a fact that inspires Subcommander T'Pol to declare their entire mission a failure. Even though she tries to be consoling – as far as a Vulcan is capable of doing so, that it.

"There is no way you could have anticipated this, Captain," she says. "I am certain Ambassador Soval will understand."

Archer whirls around, and Ianto can clearly see the steel in his blue eyes – the very steel he saw so often in Jack's eyes.

"You're the Science Officer," he says and Ianto recognizes Jack's _I'm-giving-you-an-order_ voice. "Why don't you help Trip with the analysis of that spatial disturbance Lieutenant Reed found?"

The Vulcan raises a sceptical eyebrow, clearly not liking his tone.

"The astrometric computer in San Francisco will be far more effective," she suggests.

Archer displays he typical Harkness impulsiveness as he answers. "We're not going to San Francisco, so make do with what we've got here."

"You have lost the Klingon," T'Pol reminds him. "Your mission is over."

"I did not _lose_ the Klingon," Archer returns. "He was _taken_ And I'm going to find out who took him."

"How do you plan to do that?" the Vulcan's cold voice is infuriatingly patronizing. "Space is very big, Captain. A shadow on your sensors shall not help you to find them."

"But the vast experience of the space boomers might," Ianto intervenes quietly. " _And_ superior Vulcan technology – if you Vulcans could finally get off your high horse and be just a little bit more cooperative. Don't you think you've hindered our progress long enough?"

Archer gives him a trademark Harkness grin: wide, white and full of smugness. "I think I'm gonna like you, Petty Officer Daniels."

T'Pol ignores the byplay completely. "This is a foolish mission, Captain. I assume you are going to be contacting Starfleet to… _advise_ them of our situation before you would run headlong into trouble?"

"No, I'm not," Archer replies; the tone eerily reminds Ianto of the countless occasions when Jack had to deal with some pig-headed bureaucrat from UNIT, or the police – or the Prime Minister. "And neither are you."

The Vulcan's only answer is another sceptically raised eyebrow.

"Now, get the hell out of here and make yourself useful," Archer adds in Jack's _take-it-or-leave-it-and-bear-the-consequences_ tone.

It apparently still works, despite the countless centuries – and generations – between him and his ancestor, because after a moment of mutinous glaring the Vulcan actually obeys. The door of the captain's ready room slides shut behind her with a quiet but definite _clang_.

* * *

For the first time since he came aboard, Ianto is alone with Jack Archer. Alone under the scrutinizing stare of his captain. No, not really _his_ captain… but close enough.

"Tell me, Mr Daniels," Archer says after a lengthy pause. "Who are you really? You're awfully well-informed for a simple enlisted crewman."

"I'm not a _simple_ enlisted crewman, sir," Ianto replies, hoping that Jack's great-great-great-great and several more times great-grandson would be as responsive to a direct approach as Jack used to be. "I'm the quartermaster. It's my job to know _everything_ , down to the complete list of questionable creatures Dr Phlox keeps in Sickbay and to the fact that your dog isn't supposed to have any cheese."

Archer is amused by his answer but won't allow being distracted so easily.

"Even Vulcan technology?" he asks.

"Oh, that," Ianto waves dismissively. "I started my service as a junior archivist at Starfleet Headquarters. We came across all sorts of reports from everywhere on the planet – or beyond. Including the Warp 5 Programme."

"And you just kept that in your head?" Archer is still suspicious a bit.

Ianto sighs. "I've got a photographic memory, sir. It actually takes me _effort_ to forget things. Especially if I've seen them in written form."

"So you're a proper genius, then?" Archer asks doubtfully and Ianto laughs.

"Certainly not! It's simply an ability I was born with; and believe me, sir, it's often more a curse than a gift.

He remembers with nauseating clarity the battle of Canary Wharf, the blood and gore, the knives and screams; he remembers Lisa, remembers Tosh and Owen, remembers losing Jack repeatedly, remembers being killed by the 456 and fights violently the urge to get sick right there over the captain's desk.

He knows that Jack Archer has lost his fair share of loved ones, too, and hopes that the captain would not probe any deeper.

He is proven right.

"Well, it's certainly a welcome gift in your current position," the captain says instead. "Which gives me the idea: can you make me an inventory of all the damage we've taken and the necessary repairs? The department heads are sending me these reports all the time but I don't seem to be able to put together the whole picture."

"You're a pilot, sir, not a bureaucrat," Ianto suppresses a grin. The total inability to deal with paperwork must be encoded into the Harkness genes. "Let me deal with it. I don't have so much to do while we're in transit anyway. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

Archer looks at him beseechingly – every bit like his ancestor when he really, _really_ wanted something. He even puts his hands together with the same gesture.

"Coffee?" he says hopefully. "I know I already had my daily cup but could we call this an emergency?"

Ianto has made it adamantly clear that he's willing to make coffee for the captain – _once_ a day. But this _is_ an emergency; and it's hard to resist when Archer looks at him with Jack's blue eyes and Jack's wide, white smile.

"Very well, sir," he gives in. "But just this one time. Don't expect it to become a regular custom."

* * *

The new assignment he was given by the captain sends Ianto all across the ship, which wipes his carefully established routine straight to hell. He has the feeling that he has to be in seven places at the same time to get at least a vague picture of the damage and what they may need to acquire as soon as they come to the next space station – or across some friendly aliens.

Even though the short time he's spent in the 22nd century gives him the impression that Torchwood One may have been right about aliens… or about most of them, at least. The ones who try to kill humans whenever they get the chance.

Unfortunately, those seem to outnumber the supposedly friendly ones by one to five.

 _"You_ would know about that, wouldn't you?" Sandra Massaro comments, overhearing his muttered rant in Engineering.

This is the first time they've run into each other. Until now, Ianto has skilfully avoided the Suzie look-alike, but he can't get out of her way _here_. This is where she works, and he has to continue his inventory.

She has the same bitter, disillusioned air about him as Suzie used to have. It is mildly unsettling but Ianto does his best not to show it.

"What do you mean?" he asks blandly and Massaro rolls Suzie's jewelled eyes in annoyance.

"Stop acting around me, Jones, you can't fool me! In fact, I'm the only one here you can't. You see, they gave me some of Suzie's memory engrams when they cloned me, so I know _exactly_ who you are."

Ianto is too shocked for denial. " _Who_ cloned you?" he asks instead.

"Fucking UNIT, who else?" she spats, making Ianto wonder if Suzie's volatile temper was genetically encoded, too. "When they blew up the Hub – together with Jack, as you may remember – they took some of the corpses that weren't destroyed in the explosion. For _research_. Cloning was still fairly new back in your time, and corpses would not complain when something went wrong."

"And things _did_ get wrong, I presume," Ianto mutters.

Massaro nods. "All the time. The first generation of clones died after a couple of months, and the second and third batches didn't last much longer, either. So they simply froze the last batch of us till they could fix the technology."

"Which never happened," Ianto supports because he begins to see where they're heading.

"Not until UNIT got dissolved," Massaro explains. "Then, of course, Starfleet got their greedy paws on everything."

"And they thawed you out?" Ianto frowns. "What for?"

Massaro shrugs. "They needed people with actual experience at fighting aliens, I guess, and someone got the glorious idea to clone Torchwood personnel, equip them with the memory engrams of the donor and enlist them to serve on starships."

"So, there are others?" Ianto dreads the answer. "Who else? Tosh? Jack's insane brother?"

"Neither of them made it out of the explosion," Sandra replies grimly. "As for the others, I was the only one who survived in cryogenic storage – perhaps because Suzie was brought back by that cursed glove. All others suffered cellular breakdown and died in their cold-sleep. Lucky ones! Can you imagine what it's like to live with Suzie's memories? Including the ones about _both_ her deaths?"

Ianto shakes his head mutely. Massaro gives him a wry grin.

"Well, it sucks. But you're not a clone, I can tell that. We always recognize each other, don't ask how 'cos I don't know. You are the genuine item. So, how did you survive, how did you get here and why do you call yourself Daniels?"

Those are all justified questions and Ianto decided to give her the… er… _doctored_ version of the truth.

"The Doctor managed to heal me, but I couldn't remain in my own time 'cos I was officially declared dead and even buried. So he had the TARDIS give me a new identity and planted me here and now, where I can be most useful. His words, not mine; although, considering the chaos I found when I took over as quartermaster, he was probably right."

"So you got saved by Torchwood's Number One enemy," Sandra comments with an amused snort. "Speak about irony."

"Quite," Ianto agrees. "Speaking of which: do you think they've gone out of their way to hunt down the progeny of the Cardiff team specifically? I was surprised how many of them were aboard."

"I don't think they even _know_ about Lieutenant Reed being related to Owen," Sandra replies thoughtfully. "It is a fairly distant relation, after all; one must have known the original to recognize the lousy disposition. They _might_ know about Ensign Sato, though. Two certified geniuses rising from the same family ain't easy to overlook."

"Or handsome, charismatic, flirtatious bastards with egos of the size of the Moon," Ianto adds fondly.

Sandra laughs and it is a pleasant surprise, because Ianto can't remember having heard Suzie laughing. Not a single time. Clone she may be, and one carrying some of her donor's memories, but Sandra Massaro is definitely her own person.

All of a sudden Ianto is no longer alone in the 22nd century. Granted, he was never close to the original Suzie; but Sandra is clearly different – and they are connected by memories no-one else in the here and now could understand.

"Well, Ianto says after some relaxed silence. "I have to finish my round; and then I have to caffeinate our intrepid captain, if only for the sake of the crew's sanity…"

"Some things never change," Sandra laughs; then she suddenly becomes very serious. "Just be careful with him, Ianto. I don't know what exactly you and Jack had going on, but – this is not _our_ Jack."

"I know," Ianto sighs. "Still too close for comfort, though. Well, I'll have to deal, there's no way around it. Tell me: are you still a caffeine addict?"

Sandra grins. "Are you kidding? I'm a proper engineer now; only medical students are worse. Why? Are you planning to become the coffee boy again?"

"Empathically _not_!" Ianto says. "But that doesn't mean you couldn't drop by my office and get a cup from time to time. We're what's left from Torchwood, both One and Three. We ought to stick together; especially now that we get to see the beautiful and amazing things, too. Not just the trash the Rift used to spit into our faces."

Sandra, obviously haunted by Suzie's memories too often for her comfort, nods slowly.

"I think I can live with that," then she grins again. "Now, go and fill the captain up with some coffee before he comes down and has Porthos sniff you out."

* * *

The next stop on Ianto's control round is the chief engineer's office, where the two probably least compatible members of the crew, Commander Tucker and Sub-commander T'Pol, are working together at a station that displays various sensor data. Tucker is upbeat, the Vulcan is detached – not a promising combination.

"How about this?" Tucker asks, pointing at some sensor data.

"It is just background noise," T'Pol answers dismissively. "Your sensors are not capable of isolating plasma decay."

"How can you be so damn sure what our sensors can do?" Tucker demands, insulted on behalf of the ship he literally helped to build with his own two hands.

T'Pol is not impressed.

"Vulcan children play with toys that are more sophisticated," she says coldly.

"You know, this reminds me of an alien so full of himself that his ego could darken the Sun," Ianto strolls into the office causally before the chief engineer can explode into the Vulcan's face, which would only make everything worse. He raises the pitch of his voice to mimic that of the Doctor – the tenth one, mind you – and quotes. " _Oh, a little radiation won't harm me at all! We used to play with Roentgen blocks in the nursery. I'll simply channel all of it to my big toe…_ "

He even reproduces the tenth Doctor's manic eyeroll and Tucker has to laugh, despite himself.

"What sort of alien was that?" he asks.

"Gallifreyan," Ianto tells him nonchalantly. "I don't think you've heard of them. This was before Starfleet would take over from UNIT:"

T'Pol gives him a cold, calculating look. "You can hardly be old enough to remember alien visitors _before_ the foundation of Starfleet, Petty Officer."

"Of course not," Ianto agrees amiably. "I saw it on an old video recording in the Archives of Starfleet Headquarters."

Which is a blatant lie but he knows better than speaking of time travel in the presence of a Vulcan.

"Still, I wander why we never heard of a race called _that_ ," Tucker muses.

Ianto shrugs. "They haven't visited Earth for at least a century."

He _hopes_ it's true, but with the Doctor's various incarnations dropping by on a whim all the time one can never know.

"Still, one would think at least the Vulcans would know them," Tucker says; then he looks at T'Pol sharply. "Do they?"

"Not that I would know," she replies.

"I'm not surprised," Ianto says with his best receptionist smile. "As far as I know Gallifreyans only visit planets where one can have some _fun_."

Tucker chortles in unabashed delight but before he could make a comment Captain Archer arrives and wants to know if they've made any progress.

"Not really," Tucker confesses, with an unfriendly sideway glance at T'Pol.

"My analysis of the spatial disturbance Mister Reed saw indicates a stealth vessel with a tricyclic plasma drive," the Vulcan tells him.

Ianto furiously seeks in his mental Archives for the meaning of that statement.

"Does it mean that if we can figure out the decay rate of their plasma, we'll be able to find their warp trail?" he clarifies.

Exactly," Tucker replies, clearly impressed. But how the hell can _you_ know that? You're not an engineer."

"No," Ianto agrees. "Just a former archivist with a photographic memory."

Which wouldn't help in itself had he not been thoroughly briefed about 22nd century faster-than-light technology during his training on Futurama, but he's not telling them _that_.

"Unfortunately, your sensors weren't designed to measure plasma decay," T'Pol reminds them coolly.

"Yeah, and I wonder why no-one ever suggested us to think of that," Tucker snaps.

Before the Vulcan could answer, Hoshi enters the room. It's obvious she hasn't been to Engineering before because she keeps glancing around intrigued – though she appears a little hesitant as she approaches the pulsing warp core.

"Are you sure it's safe to stand so close to that?" she asks, only half-joking.

Archer turns to her and gives her a small, very personal smile that seems to be for her alone. It's not at all like Jack's protective streak or proprietary pride towards Tosh. Ianto can't tell for sure _what_ it is, but it seems a little more… _intimate_ perhaps.

In the light of Starfleet's strict non-fraternization rules it is not necessarily a good thing.

"What've you got?" Archer asks. His voice is crisp and business-like as always on duty – unlike Jack, he does the flirting (and no small amount of it) in his off-duty hours, few though those may be – but there's warmth in those blue, blue eyes of him.

Warmth that Hoshi doesn't seem to notice. She hands the captain a PADD.

"I've managed to translate most of what Klaang said," she says, referring to the short and rather fruitless interview with their Klingon passenger right before he got kidnapped. "But none of it makes sense."

Ianto knows _that_ to be true. His competence in the two main Klingon dialects, Kumburanya and Rumaiym(1), far exceeds that of Hoshi, but he couldn't make heads or tails of Klaang's rants, either.

Archer is clearly unhappy with the lack of results.

"Nothing about the Suliban?" he presses on.

Hoshi shakes her head. "Nope. I'm sorry, Captain."

"Not your fault," Archer turns to T'Pol. "That name ring a bell to you?"

"They are a somewhat primitive species from Sector 3641. But they have never posed a threat," the Vulcan answers with cold indifference.

"Well, they have _now_ ," Archer snaps, irritated; then he turns back to Hoshi. "Did he say anything about Earth?"

"The word's not even in their database," she replies with a wry face; then she points at the PADD. "It's all there. There were only four words I couldn't translate."

"Those are probably just proper nouns," Ianto suggests. "Names of people or places important to him… or to Klingons in general."

"Maybe," Archer allows, carefully pronouncing the highlighted words. "Jelik... Sarin... Rigel... Tholia." He looks up to T'Pol. "Anything sound familiar?"

T'Pol hesitates a nanosecond before answering, but that nanosecond is enough for Archer to become suspicious. He continues to glare at her. "T'Pol?"

T'Pol must be feeling his suspicion and his growing anger because she comes out with the truth without further avoidance… well, with _part_ of the truth anyway.

"Rigel is a planetary system... approximately fifteen light years from our present position," she finally says.

Archer is getting that deceivingly soft look on his face that Jack was wearing when he wanted to lure an enemy – or a captured alien – into a false sense of safety.

"Why the hesitation?" he asks. His voice is deceivingly soft, too, but with the underlying message that promises nothing good for a false answer. Ianto can't help but imagine a young, reckless, _mortal_ Jack, Time Agent extraordinaire, dealing with a suspect… or an untrustworthy ally.

T'Pol looks like someone who has just realized that she is about to piss Archer off. Royally.

"According to the navigational logs salvaged from Klaang's ship, Rigel X was the last place he stopped before crashing on your planet," she admits reluctantly.

Archer's eyes are narrowing in displeasure. It is a look the likes of which used to make even Owen to get his act together. What he _doesn't_ seem to be is surprised.

"Why do I get the feeling you weren't going to share that little piece of information?" he asks rhetorically.

"I was _not_ authorized to reveal the details of our findings," the Vulcan replies calmly. Ianto understands that while she may pick her battles carefully, she won't back off in the face of threats.

Unfortunately, Jack archer doesn't realize that.

"The next time I learn you're withholding something," he says through clenched teeth, "you're going to spend the rest of this voyage confined to some very cramped quarters. Understood?"

She doesn't deign him with an answer; not even with the stereotypical Vulcan eyebrow.

Had Archer taken the time to learn a little more about Vulcans instead of being mad at them all his adult life, he would know that cramped quarters aren't something they are really uncomfortable with. Their current deeps space vessels may be huge, elegant monstrosities, but just a century earlier their explorers travelled in tiny scout ships with a crew of eight or ten at most, where privacy was an unknown concept.

Only time-honoured Vulcan discipline made it possible to spend _years_ in those tiny metal boxes without murdering each other – and the fact that the crew usually consisted of bonded couples(2).

But that is something humans won't know until the 23rd century when a Vulcan-human hybrid named Spock – the first such fusion that happens the natural way, albeit with the considerable support of comparative genetics and advanced medical technology – reveals to his commanding officer, a certain James T. Kirk, how the _very first_ contact between Vulcans and humans _really_ happened.

At the moment, however, Ianto is the only one aboard who knows these facts (with the possible exception of T'Pol), so he finds one cannot blame Captain Archer for his preconceptions.

Even though he _could_ have learned about early Vulcan scout ships (if not about the rest of the story) with a little bit of dogged research if he'd really tried, Ianto adds mentally. _Jack_ would have. But again, Captain Archer is a product of his own (linear) time; and, more importantly, he's _not_ Jack.

The object of his musings has already contacted the Bridge, instructing Ensign Mayweather to go into the Vulcan star charts, find a system called Rigel and set a course for the tenth planet. A moment later the course is set and _Enterprise_ jumps into subspace.

~TBC~

* * *

 **End notes of utter geekiness:**

(1) See the novelization of "Star Trek III – The Search for Spock" by Vonda McIntyre for the two different Klingon branches, including dialects.

(2) See the TOS novel "Strangers from the Sky" by Margaret Wonder Bonanno, which describes the "true" first contact between Vulcans and humans, taking place in the late 21st century. It can't be considered canon in these days, of course, but I prefer it to the one established in the TNG movie "First Contact", just as I prefer TOS-Cochrane to the raving alcoholic in said movie. My AU, my choices – if you disagree, you're free to write your own story. Cheers!


	6. Chapter 6: Moon Above Rigel VII

**A Matter of Time**

 **by Soledad**

For disclaimer, rating, etc., see the Introduction.

The particulars of the Rigel system are taken from "The Worlds of the Federation" by Shahne Johnson, save for the parts about the Chelons and about Rigel X. Those are from the Memory Beta Wiki. "Moon Above Rigel VII" was a popular song in Kirk's time. It has nothing to do with this chapter, really, but it sounded good as a chapter title. Markalians feature in 24th century Star Trek series, but they can actually be seen on Rigel X.

Crewman Kelly is a canon character. So is Sandra Massaro. She just didn't look like Suzie in canon, obviously. ;)

* * *

 **Chapter 06 – Moon Above Rigel VII**

On their way to the Rigel system they finally get the chance to push the new engines to their limits, much to the engineering crew's delight. Even so, the detour takes them several days, and Captain Archer decides that they can use the time best if they make themselves familiar with their destination. So, instead of the pre-scheduled movie night, off-duty personnel gather in the mess hall to watch the presentation of Crewman Renee J. Kelly, the astronomics specialist of the science section.

Ianto and Sandra Massaro arrive together, both just coming off-duty and having shared a cup of coffee in Ianto's tiny office. They've become tentative friends since Sandra's big revelation, still testing the waters but much relieved to have somebody who _understands_.

Ianto didn't realise how lonely he'd been since his quasi-resurrection. Only know does he fully understand what he used to miss: someone who comes from the same time, with the same background – well, at least the closest thing to it anyway.

The gossip mill has already begun to work, of course, but they don't really care. Their cover story is to have detected some mutual friends at Starfleet Headquarters – which, in a manner, is _almost_ true – and since they have nothing to hide, they can't be caught red-handed, either.

Besides, Suzie has never been Ianto's type – and neither is Sandra.

Renee Kelly, on the other hand… Ianto can feel his airways tighten as the beautiful, dark-skinned young scientist walks into the mess hall. She's nothing like Lisa, save for the superficial similarities of build and colouring, and yet Ianto is instantly smitten, just as h was with Lisa. One would think that after all the death and destruction he's seen, after the bitter losses he's suffered in his young life, he would no longer crush on people at first sight.

One would obviously be wrong.

To his defence, Renee Kelly is truly breathtaking: calm, serene, with exquisite, even features and wide, warm dark eyes and thick, glossy black hair that she wears in a tight knot on the nape of her neck. (Ianto is already daydreaming about what it would look like when she let it down.) Not even the drab Starfleet uniform can fully conceal her graceful figure, and she moves like a dancer. Or a gymnast. In any case like somebody who's in full control of her body.

Apparently, being a scientist doesn't mean being a geek in the 22nd century.

Sandra elbows him sharply in the ribs.

"Close your mouth, Jones, and try to pay attention," she hisses. "You're not here to ogle the pretty girls. You're supposed to learn about Rigel X, to know what to watch out for down on that planet."

"What makes you think Captain Archer would take me with him?" Ianto asks with a frown. "And it's Daniels now, try to remember!"

"Sorry," Sandra looks honestly contrite – which is a previously unknown expression on the face she shares with Suzie. "Old habits are hard to break sometimes."

"Those aren't _your_ habits, though," Ianto reminds her.

She shrugs. "I know; they _feel_ like mine, though. I wish you and Suzie had been on first name basis."

"We were," Ianto deadpans. "It was just one-sided."

Sandra laughs; then she becomes deadly serious again.

"You _must_ talk the captain into taking you with him," she says with emphasis.

"That would be futile," Ianto replies. "And unnecessary. He has trained security personnel to accompany him."

"Oh yeah?" she comments dryly. "And how many of them have ever had to fight hostile aliens? In battle or in hand-to-hand combat?"

Ianto quickly checks the background of the security officers, all safely stored in his memory.

"None that I'd know of," he admits. Sandra nods in satisfaction.

"Exactly. He'll need somebody to watch his back. Somebody who won't hesitate to shoot sharp when he has to."

* * *

Ianto doesn't get the chance to voice his doubts because Crewman Kelly now begins her presentation. She calls up the image of a large star system on the big viewscreen: one with several suns and at least a dozen planets.

"The Rigel system is located in the Kandari sector," she begins; her voice is unexpectedly low-pitched, but soft. "As you can see, it is a quadralupe system, but only two of its stars are of interest. The primary is a blue-white super giant, the secondary a somewhat smaller blue-white giant. They support a total of thirteen planets, six of which are inhabited to some level."

"That is a remarkable number of Minshara-class planets," Archer comments with a low whistle and crewman Kelly nods.

"Indeed it is, sir. It can be attributed to the system's extensive habitable zone."

"But doesn't a super giant emit lethal doses of radiation?" Crewman Cutler asks in surprise.

"It does," Crewman Kelly agrees. "Fortunately, there is a Hakel radiation belt surrounding the system's primary, shielding the planets from the harmful radiation."

"It would still be unwise for humans – or for Denobulans, for that matter – to visit the inner planets without radiation suits," Dr Phlox comments from the first row of the audience, and Crewman Kelly nods in agreement.

"Are there any indigenous species on these inhabited planets?" Archer asks.

"More than one," Kelly replies. "According to the Denobulan database, courtesy of Dr Phlox," she inclines her head in the direction of their chief medical officer, "Rigel II is inhabited by an aquatic species called the Chelons. Or Chelarians. They are a sentient race, resembling large, sabre-toothed turtles."

"What?" at least a dozen people ask in unison.

Ianto is not one of them. He has memorized the specifics of alien races he is supposed to meet on this mission.

"Chelons have indeed descended from sabre-toothed turtles," Dr Phlox comes to Crewman Kelly's help. "Even though they have learned to walk upright on two legs somewhen during their evolution."

"And they actually have shells?" Crewman Cutler asks doubtfully.

Phlox nods. "A somewhat rudimentary version of it, yes. It still gives theme excellent protection both against all sorts of blunt trauma _and_ against ultraviolet radiation, among other types. On their homeworld they're nocturnal and dwell in swamps, but they can adapt to different environments with relative ease."

"Are we likely to run into them on Rigel X?" Lieutenant Reed asks.

"Not necessarily," the doctor replies. "They prefer the warm and humid weather of Rigel III. Should you meet them, though, remember that in times of stress or combat they emit a deadly contact toxin through their skin, which can be transmitted via a claw strike."

"So we ought to stun them as long as they're still out of striking reach?" the armoury officer clarifies.

Dr Phlox shakes his head. "That would be hardly necessary. They're actually relatively peaceful. Don't make them feel cornered and you'll be fine."

"We'll try your best," Archer says dryly; the idea of dealing with man-sized _turtles_ of all things clearly baffles him. "So much about Rigel III. What about the other planets?"

"Rigel II has a small, mixed population, consisting of Chelons and Markalians, mostly," Crewman Kelly explains. "Rigel IV has a few modest human settlements that operate as planetary spaceports and offer supplies and repairs to passing freighters."

"I've never heard of humans ever getting so far from Earth," Archer murmurs in surprise.

"The first settlers got there by sleeper ships, at the beginning of this century," Kelly explains. "The colony is barely fifty years old, but the people are doing well enough for themselves."

"And you know this – how exactly?" Archer asks. "There's nothing in Starfleet records about this."

"Not everything is in Starfleet records, sir," Kelly shrugs apologetically. "I had a great-great-great-aunt among the first colonists; for me, this is family history."

Archer nods in understanding. "I see. Who else lives there?"

"None on Rigel IV," Kelly looks at T'Pol. "Would you like to take over concerning Rigel V, Sub-commander?"

The Vulcan's expression remains detached. "I expect you to continue with your usual efficiency, Crewman."

At first Kelly seems taken aback a bit, but then she shrugs and goes on.

"As you wish, Sub-commander," she looks at Archer. "Rigel V is inhabited by a peaceful humanoid population of about one billion, sir. These people are thought to be an off-shoot of the Vulcan race due to the biological similarities with them."

"Oh, that's more than merely a theory, it's a know fact," Dr Phlox interrupts her. "There _are_ certain genetic divergences, due to the fact that the two branches have separated some twelve thousand years ago, but theoretically they would be still compatible. It's the cultural differences that truly separate them."

"In what way?" Archer asks with interest.

"After some not closer identified disaster several centuries ago, Rigelians decided to return to a more rural lifestyle," Phlox explains. "They have not ejected technology as a whole, but they switched to the use of so-called clean energy sources, like solar or geothermic energy, and they do not dwell in big cities anymore. Most of them are farmers, or traders, or craftspeople of various sorts, who live in distant settlements in group marriages. They also seem to have embraced numerology on a level that could be considered a religion or a philosophy and is hard to grasp for outsiders."

"Group marriages?" ignoring the rest he's been just told, Archer breaks out into an eerily Harkness-style grin. "Some people really know how to have a good life!"

T'Pol gives him a glare of cold disdain.

"The practice was born out of necessity four hundred of your Standard years ago, when the population has reached dangerously low levels, due to plagues and poverty," she says icily. "Not every species allows their lives to be steered entirely by their libido."

"There's nothing wrong with that," Dr Phlox declares airily before Archer could think of an answer. "It clearly works for the Rigelians. They've repopulated their world and the more adventurous ones even migrated to the neighbouring planets, so we can consider their way of life a success. It's unlikely that you'd meet any of them on Rigel X, though; it's too cold for them."

"They live on Rigel VI, though, in peaceful coexistence with some more human settlers, and the two communities seem to work together fairly well," Crewman Kelly says. "According to my family, Rigel VI," she points at the sixth planet, clearly in Trojan orbit with its neighbour, "has the potential of becoming a major trade centre that will coordinate much of the cargo transportation between the Rigel system and the neighbouring sectors – _if_ the Orions can be kept at bay, that is."

"Wait a minute!" that statement has clearly rung a bell with Ensign Mayweather. "Rigel VIII – isn't that the Orion homeworld?"

Kelly nods. "It is, though the majority of them have migrated to other systems over two hundred years ago. Only the _green savages_ , as they are called, do still live on Rigel VIII. However, the others still revisit the homeworld regularly. That's where they get their green-skinned slaves from – one of their main trade items."

"It is rare that two intelligent species would develop on the same planet; even more seldom is that both of them would be humanoid," Dr Phlox adds with professional excitement. "A shame, really, that we don't have the time to take a look! Or to visit Rigel VII – although that would be a bit dangerous. The Kalar may be a primitive species but they are fierce warriors."

"Think of seven-foot Neanderthals, wearing furs and wielding swords of the size of a grown man, sir," Kelly explains to Archer. "They don't like visitors; it's best to leave them alone."

"My skills with a sword aren't really name-worthy," the captain admits. "Besides, we've got more important things to do right now. What can you tell us about Rigel X?"

"It's not a nice place, sir," Kelly replies. "Due to its elongated orbit it is very cold most of the time, with lots of snow storms. The only habitable area is the trade centre, which consists of thirty-six levels, some of them underground. I doubt that it ever had an indigenous species, but it is currently populated by a colourful mix of different races, among them Tandarans, Nausicaans and Markalians… and those are the more civilized ones. If you go down there, see that you're well-armed and always alert."

"People less civilized than Markalians and Nausicaans?" Mayweather shudders demonstratively. "You've just given me the stuff for nightmares."

"Nonetheless, it is true," T'Pol interjects. "Most of the species you will encounter on Rigel X are known to be impatient with newcomers. None of them have seen a human before. You have a tendency to be... gregarious. I suggest you try to restrain that tendency."

"By all due respect, Sub-commander," Mayweather returns mildly, "not all of us are newbies when it comes to first contact situations. You may have the advantage of a longer life but I was _born_ in space and met my first hostile alien before I learned to walk properly. No need to look down your nose at us."

"Besides, she forgot to warn us about drinking the water," Tucker quips and several people bend over, laughing. _Including_ the captain.

T'Pol gives them the superior Vulcan eyebrow.

"Doctor Phlox isn't concerned with the food and water," she says coolly. "But he does caution against intimate contact."

"Yeah, because the first thing we'd do would be to jump somebody's bones," Archer mutters angrily.

Sandra and Ianto exchange amused looks as this is exactly what _their_ Jack would do on his first visit on an alien planet. Well… unless the saving of the Earth would be more pressing, of course.

The Denobulan doesn't seem taken aback by Archer's comment.

"There's nothing wrong with a bit of experimenting," he says cheerfully. "You just need the right planet for _that_. I highly recommend Risa, should the crew ever need shore leave."

"Later," Archer says dismissively. "At the moment we have more urgent things to do."

Sandra and Ianto look at each other 'cos it's decidedly odd to face such priorities from somebody who looks so much like Jack.

"I'll lead the landing party," Archer continues and Tucker begins to protect at once.

"That's the First Officer's job, Captain!"

Archer shakes his head. "I'm sorry, trip, but I need you're here."

"You'll need an engineer with you!" Tucker insists and Archer nods in agreement.

"True. Which is why I'll take Ensign Massaro with me. She's as good as any of your crew; _and_ she's a crack shot. We might need that."

If Ianto had any doubts that Captain Archer knows exactly who – and _what_ – Sandra Massaro is, those doubts have just been dissolved. Tucker wants to keep arguing but the captain won't buy it.

"Be reasonable, Trip," he says. "I'll have to take Lieutenant Reed with me, for obvious reasons; and Ensign Mayweather because he's got the most experience with first contact. I can't bring the entire command crew down there. _Somebody_ needs to look after the ship."

"There's always Hoshi," Tucker jokes, much to the dismay of their communications officer.

Archer shakes his head again. "I'll need her with me. We can't depend on the universal translator alone."

"I do speak several Rigelian dialects," T'Pol points out. "And I can use the contacts established by my government."

Archer gives her a wintry smile. "Yeah, but I need somebody with me whom I can actually trust." He turns away from her in dismissal. "The full list of the landing party members will be displayed on the private screens within the hour. Now, let's listen to what else Crewman Kelly has to tell us."

* * *

Renée Kelly's presentation goes on for another hour or so but Ianto pays her little attention. His mind is going through various scenarios how he could make Captain Archer listen to him. He knows he can't tell the whole truth, but he also knows that Sandra was right: he _has_ to go down to Rigel X. He knows more about the planet than anyone else, has the layout of the trade complex etched into his memory and speaks – well, _understands_ – the main Rigelian dialects.

"Do you think he'll buy it if I told him I've been in cryogenic suspension for a century?" he asks in a low voice that is easily concealed by the lively conversation around them.

"It would be more convincing than trying to tell him about the Doctor," Sandra replies with a shrug.

"I'm surprised that Starfleet wouldn't know about him," Ianto murmurs. "UNIT's records must have been badly damaged."

"Or some selfish prick had deleted a great part of them, just because they didn't want to hand them over to Starfleet," Sandra suggests. "In any case the mere idea of time travel counts as a fairy tale in this century. You'll be better off with a white lie," she gives him a pointed look. "Oh, come on! Remember whom you're talking to! I know you can pull it off."

"It doesn't mean I have to _like_ it," Ianto mutters but he knows Sandra is right. Again.

* * *

So he waits until the others file out of the Mess Hall and goes to address Archer.

"Can I have a word with you, Captain?"

Archer is tired and fed up and he makes no effort to hide it.

"Does it have to be now?" he asks. "It's late and I have a mission to lead tomorrow."

"It's about the mission, sir," Ianto replies simply. Archer closes his eyes for a moment but gives in. "Very well. Come to my ready room."

They don't talk as they walk the corridors; the silence between them is tense. When the door finally closes behind them, Archer turns to him impatiently.

"Well? What is so urgent that it can't wait?"

"I should go with the landing party, Captain," Ianto says without preamble.

Archer laughs humourlessly. "We don't need to replenish our supplies yet, Mr Daniels. What would we need you for?"

"The same thing you need Ensign Massaro for," Ianto replies calmly.

Archer has obviously inherited Jack's sharp mind as well as his good looks because he makes the right conclusion in no time.

"Are you one of those Torchwood clones, too?" he asks with narrowed eyes. "I was told that only Massaro survived."

"That is right," Ianto says. "But corpses weren't the only things in cryogenic suspension under Torchwood Cardiff. Sometimes people were frozen alive."

Which _is_ the truth – even though he wasn't one of those. A truth that would lead Captain Archer to the false conclusions, and Ianto regrets lying to him as much as he regretted lying to Jack while he kept the half-converted Lisa in the basement. But it is necessary now as it was necessary then, and he can be an accomplished liar if he has to. If the stakes are high enough.

At least he doesn't have to distract _Archer_ with sexual favours – or rather with the vague promise of them.

"So you are…" the captain begins slowly.

"The genuine item, yes," Ianto finishes for him. "Fresh from 21st century Cardiff. Well, I say fresh… Anyway, yes, I did work for the last Torchwood branch as their archivist, but I did field work as well. I'm used to hostile aliens – we rarely met any friendly ones, in truth – and I'm good with a gun. Which are the reasons I got hired for this job."

"By whom?" Archer demands.

Ianto shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Captain, that's classified.

Which, in a manner, is true again.

Archer's eyes narrow. "Are you with Starfleet Intelligence?"

Ianto laughs. "Good Lord, no! I've nothing to do with the military. Never have, never will. Well, aside from liaising with UNIT, but that was a different cup of tea."

Archer is still not convinced. "I was shown extensive files of Torchwood survivors when they sent me Massaro. I don't remember your name."

"You can't sir, 'cos it isn't really my name," Ianto is relieved that he can tell the captain _something_ that is one hundred per cent true. "My name was changed, for security reasons. It's safer so."

"For whom?" Archer asks in suspicion.

"For me," Ianto says. "I was officially declared dead and only revived a year or so ago."

"Then you must have had a lot to catch up," Archer comments.

Ianto shrugs indifferently. "It comes in handy to have a photographic memory."

"Yeah, you said so before," Archer tries to digest the shocking news as quickly as he can. "So, you never really worked for Starfleet Headquarters?"

Ianto smiles faintly. "I worked for their predecessor, for which you should be grateful, sir. I know more than they can imagine."

"You still lied," Archer says accusingly.

"Yes, sir," Ianto decides to go for the brutal truth. "I'm sorry, but it was necessary."

"And you still ain't telling me the whole truth," it isn't a question, but Ianto nods nonetheless.

"I'm not allowed to."

"By whom…" Archer begins; then he stops and pulls a face. "Don't tell me. It's classified."

"Afraid so, sir."

"I see," Archer is quiet for a seemingly endless moment. "I guess that makes you a first contact specialist; you and Massaro both."

"Not really, sir," Ianto replies with a mirthless laugh. "We rarely got the chance to actually _talk_ to the aliens that, er, _visited_ Earth in my time. We usually killed them before they could kill us."

"What about the friendly ones?" Archer asks.

"There weren't many of that kind," Ianto says slowly. "Harmless little extraterrestrial animals, yes," he remembers fondly the 'spidery mice things' Jack hated so much. "But the sentient ones usually tried to kill us. Or to transform us to homicidal cyborgs. Or to transform the entire planet so that it would fit their needs, making it inhabitable for humans."

"A shame," Archer comments absently. "How comes that Earth had a lot more alien visitors in the previous century? Our space flight was still in its earliest stage. There couldn't have been many encounters in space. Not before we met the Centaurians, that is."

"There weren't," Ianto replies simply. "But our _visitors_ didn't always come by spaceship."

Archer nods, as if remembering some forgotten detail. "The Rift in Cardiff, right? That's where they slipped through."

For the first time he's boarded _Enterprise_ , Ianto is truly shocked. "You know about the Rift?"

Archer shrugs. "Hey, I'm a descendant of the infamous Jack Harkness; it is family history. Why, do you think, did I get selected to command the first warp five ship mankind has built?"

"I thought it was because of your father, sir," Ianto admits, dumbfounded.

Archer laughs. "If I were anything like my father, I'd be happily tinkering away in a lab somewhere. Nah; it's the Harkness genes that got me chosen."

"They may come in handy should we met any alien princesses in need," Ianto deadpans.

"I mean excellent piloting reflexes and superior hand-eye coordination," Archer corrects.

"And the leading qualities," Ianto adds quietly. "There had always been a Harkness at Torchwood Cardiff, starting with your ancestor and ending with the one that got blown up with the Hub."

Which was the official explanation for Jack's disappearance, Ianto learned on Futurama. UNIT had managed to sweep under the carpet the whole ugly mess with the 456 – his own death had also been chalked up to the explosion.

"You worked with the last one, didn't you?" Archer asks and Ianto nods wordlessly. "It must be… awkward for you to serve with me, then. I'm told I look a great deal like him."

"As if _you_ were the one who got cloned," Ianto replies with a crooked little smile. "Yeah, it is a bit weird; with Sandra looking exactly like her donor and Lieutenant Reed and Ensign Sato being related to my own team-mates, no matter how distantly," he trails off as realization dawns. "That was you doing, wasn't it? Hunting them down and getting them all on your ship?"

Archer nods. "I know very little about Torchwood; mostly just family legends that were handed down from generation to generation and were getting more and more… _colourful_ each time. But I do know that the last Jack Harkness successfully defended the Rift with only a handful of people working for him and managed crises that could have destroyed the world. I wanted people like that under my command and pulled a few strings to get them."

"It couldn't have been easy in Ensign Sato's case," Ianto comments dryly. "You must have a lot of clout that you could get her out of that prison."

Archer grins ferally; it reminds Ianto of Jack on the warpath.

"I knew about a lot of skeletons being hidden in various cupboards," he says. "And I'm not too queasy to use such knowledge to get a job done. Of course," he adds with a sudden bout of humour, "it helps that certain people taken over from UNIT by Starfleet still feel guilty about what happened to Torchwood Cardiff."

"I find that hard to believe," Ianto says coolly.

Archer shakes his head. "Not everyone at UNIT was corrupt or a coward. After Colonel Oduya's administrative staff was removed and persecuted, they actually tried to set things right. Even though it was already too late for the Cardiff team. _Or_ for Great-aunt Alice."

"You mean Jack's daughter?" Ianto clarifies.

It physically hurts to remember the bitterly disappointed woman, having learned what Jack had to do the beat the 456.

Archer nods. "I never met her, of course; she was my _mother's_ great-aunt and died before I was born."

"It's better so," Ianto says quietly. "She wouldn't have been able to bear with your likeness to Jack. They had a… troubled relationship."

Which is the understatement of the millennium, but as Archer obviously haven't heard of the 456 it won't be prudent to tell him more.

"I take it your mother was a Harkness, then," he says instead.

Archer nods. "And her father and _his_ father, back to the first known one in the 19th century. Before him, we have no idea."

"Did they all look the same? The men, I mean," Ianto asks, regretting that he isn't allowed to tell the man the truth.

"More or less," Archer replies. "Although not to the extent I do, or so I'm told. And Mom apparently was the spitting image of Great-aunt Alice. I don't remember her well; she died when I was just a boy."

"Then who told you all the Torchwood stories?"

"Grandpa Harkness," Archer grins. "Dad hated it, of course. For him, it was just 'that silly James Bond stuff' and he wanted me to become a proper scientist. But as Grandpa said, I had rocket fuel in my blood and only space flight on my mind. He called it 'the Harkness gene' – the one that drove all of us to the stars," he shrugs, a bit embarrassed.

Ianto hums noncommittally. He knows, of course, that Jack used to fly just about everything at some point of his unnaturally long life, from spaceships through atmospheric gliders to old-fashioned airplanes, but he never actually _saw_ him doing so.

Unless one counted Jack's reckless driving style that seemed to defy the laws of physics on occasion, that is.

"Well," Archer says after a lengthy pause. "This was a very… _educational_ little chat, Mr Daniels, or whoever you truly are. I still don't know why I should take you with me to Rigel X, though."

"Because I'm Torchwood; and you know that we _always_ get the job done," Ianto replies simply. "Besides, I'm used to work in synch with Sandra; well, Suzie actually, but there's till a great deal of similarity between them. And since she has Suzie's memories, she'll be able to anticipate my reactions, which can prove crucial in a dangerous situation."

"There's that," Archer admits. "Very well, then; let's give it a try. But I warn you, mister: dance out the line just a few inches and I'll kick your butt back to Earth faster than warp 5. Understood?"

"Of course, sir."

"Good. Go, get some rest and meet me in the shuttle bay tomorrow. Launch time will be sent to the computer in your office."

"Aye, Captain!" Ianto can't resist the urge to salute, in the mock-crisp manner he saw Jack do on occasion, turns on his heels and marches out of the ready room.

Archer looks after him, amusement fighting some residual suspicion on his face.

"This is gonna be one hell of a trip," he mutters before sitting back down to his desk to go through the most important facts concerning Rigel X one last time-

~TBC~


	7. Chapter 7: The Ice Trap

**A MATTER OF TIME**

 **by Soledad**

For disclaimer, rating, etc., see the Introduction.

The Dock Master is an Arcturian clone; a species only briefly seen in "Star Trek – The Motion Picture". The information trader is, of course, an Yridian. I exchanged the never-heard-of-again aliens with the breathing apparatus for the Benzites who had a similar arrangement and are better known to the fandom. I took their particulars from the Memory Beta website. The fire sculptor featured in one of Lwaxana Troi's holodeck programmes; only in clothes.

The Arcateenians are, of course, the butterfly people of Torchwood's "Greeks Bearing Gifts".

The _Free Merchant's Guild_ is my invention and is mentioned in some of my Star Trek tales. Sandra and Hoshi's outfit was inspired by totally4ryo's steampunk!Torchwood stories. A few lines of description are borrowed from the much changed original script of the _Enterprise_ pilot, including a deleted scene.

* * *

 **Chapter 07 – The Ice Trap**

On the next day, the beginning of Alpha Shift finds Archer, Lieutenant Reed, Ensign Mayweather, Ensign Sato, Sandra and Ianto in the shuttle bay, preparing themselves to go down to Rigel X. Lieutenant Reed is unhappy; he'd prefer to take at least two security guards with them, but a shuttlepod has only room for six passengers and Archer doesn't want to take two of them.

"I want to stay under the radar," he explains. "As soon as we've disembarked, we'll be descending into the trade complex. Hoshi, Mr Daniels and myself will try to talk with the local authorities – such as they are – while Travis, Lieutenant Reed and Ensign Massaro will mingle with the crowd and pick up whatever gossip there may be about the Klingon."

"Your translators have been programmed for both main Rigelian dialects," T'Pol, who's come to see them off – or, more likely, to give them final warnings - adds. "Whatever other species you may encounter, they should understand one of them," she pauses and looks at Archer with understated disdain. "Captain, I should go with you. It is illogical to leave behind the person most knowledgeable about the place."

"Next time perhaps," Archer replies airily. "Don't worry about us. Hoshi has been working on her Rigelian, and I'm sure Mr Daniels has also read up on the stuff you gave us."

T'Pol gives them _the_ Vulcan eyebrow. "Your actions are illogical and childish, Captain."

"And I like them that way," Archer returns with a wide, hideously false smile. "Confuses the hell out of the aliens I have to deal with," he then looks at the landing party. "Well, what are you waiting for? Shuttlepod's ready; and we don't have all day.

* * *

As Ensign Kelly has warned them, Rigel X is _not_ a friendly planet; and that unfriendliness isn't limited to its inhabitants. The planet itself doesn't seem to like visitors and does its best to keep them away. Mayweather is gritting his teeth as he's navigating the shuttlepod through a blizzard to the landing platform where they have been told by the Dock Master to touch down, and Lieutenant Reed is suspiciously green around the gills as the sudden, violent gushes of wind throw the little craft around like a nutshell.

"And Father wondered why I wouldn't join the Royal Navy," he mutters under his breath.

Sandra grins evilly – other than Archer and Mayweather, who are both pilots, after all, she seems to be the only one immune to motion sickness – and looks at Ianto with false sympathy.

"Still not one for bumpy rides, I see," she comments sweetly.

"Very funny!" Ianto growls; then he looks at Archer. "Remind me again, sir, why did I want to come with this landing party?"

"You said something about ice skating in the pleasure dome of the trade complex," Archer replies without missing a beat; then he turns serious again. "I'm sorry for the discomfort, but there's no way around it. The Vulcans told us Klaang was a courier. If he was here to get something, then whoever gave it to him might know why he was taken. That was only a few weeks ago... a seven foot Klingon doesn't go unnoticed."

He is trying to be optimistic – a sentiment the others don't share.

"Unless they visit the place regularly enough for people to get used to them," it's Lieutenant Reed who voices the general pessimism about their chances. "In which case it won't be easy to remember _one_ individual. They all look, dress and _behave_ alike."

"We'll see," Archer shrugs. "Hold on, people, and try not to get sick; the maintenance crew will thank you for your restrain. It won't take much longer."

And indeed, a short time later the shuttlepod swoops into position and settles onto the busy, snow-blown landing deck.

From close up, the planet seems even less friendly. It is an arctic environment at best, the snow is harsh, packed hard by the searing cold, and moulded into ragged shapes by the slicing wind that could sear flesh from bone. The snow and ice don't even look white here; more a pale blue shading to indigo in the deeper hollows none of them have the slightest desire to explore.

"Nice place," Archer comments upon disembarking and hunches into the collar of his thick parka as the frigid wind tugs his hair, dusting it with fine ice crystals.

Lieutenant Reed curses and pulls his hood up to shield his face.

"A veritable paradise," he mutters in disgust. "You should suggest it to the admirals as the perfect holiday destination. They'd deserve it."

Sandra and Ianto are grinning at each other from the protection of their respective hoods. Reed may only be distantly related to Owen but the biting sarcasm must be genetically encoded in the whole family.

 _That_ and the deep-rooted dislike of everything but an urbane environment.

"I'm sure it will be more bearable once we're inside," Archer waves in the direction of a towering, weather-worn, multi-levelled structure that looks as though it's been constructed over many decades.

It sits among the icy crags of the inhospitable terrain like a spider in the middle of its web. Its upper level is comprised of a series of docking ports where ships of varying shapes and sizes are coming and going. Huge plumes of steam blast out of geothermal vents lining the top of the structure.

"Yeah, very welcoming," Reed comments darkly and steadies himself with a hand on the shuttlepod hull as a gust if wind threatens to knock him off his feet. Loose snow is skirling around them like a tangible fog, briefly obliterating their destination, despite its size. "Do you think we can get inside any time soon?"

Archer laughs, sounding young and carefree, in spite of the dangerous mission before them. The cold doesn't seem to bother him too much and Ianto remembers that their captain has served on the Starfleet base in Alaska, flying experimental aircraft, atmospheric gliders and the likes. He clearly hasn't grown soft in the time in-between.

Ianto isn't very comfortable with the cold himself, but the one he truly pities is Hoshi. It must be very hard on her, having spent the most recent years in a rain forest of Brazil. Archer must be realizing the same because he ushers them towards the trade complex without further delay.

* * *

From the inside, the building is every bit as ugly and unwelcoming as on the outside: a damp, poorly-lit concourse. A haze hangs in the air, punctuated by shafts of artificial light. Aliens from dozens of different species go about their business, moving in and out of concealed trading alcoves. Some are in uniform, some aren't, and many carry sidearms.

Mayweather identifies quite a few of them, but there are some not even he has seen before. The established trade route of the _Horizon_ , his home ship, does not include the Rigel system.

At least it is warm enough here to loosen their clothes, even if they can't discard their dick parkas just yet. None of them is wearing a uniform, the main goal being to blend in; they are dressed like the members of the _Free Merchant's Guild_ – a loose association of independent traders from different species, according to Mayweather, who also gave them the necessary instructions for the proper wardrobe.

It is a style that in the 21st century would have been summarized as _steampunk_ – only without the goggles, but with lots of leather and bright brass buttons and appliances for the men, including form-fitting waistcoats and openly worn weapons. For the women, it is corsets, knee-length, baggy trousers and knee-high boots, also with openly carried weapons.

Ianto must admit that Captain Archer looks very dashing in this slightly piratical outfit. Especially the double-breasted, navy blue coat with its shiny buttons and the epaulettes with a captain's strips make a lasting impression. As for the women, they simply look stunning.

Hoshi is wearing a pale silk thermal blouse with gathered elastic neckline under a brown leather corset that has straps across the front to the side, fastened over her right hip with shiny brass buckles. The corset has shoulder straps that also close with buckles. Her brown leather trousers are tucked into sturdy brown boats that also have brass buckles. Her phase pistol is fastened to an elaborately decorated leather belt, worn loosely around her waist. Her hair is pinned up into a beehive-like hairdo and covered by a round little cap decorated with a cluster of short feathers and jewels.

Sandra's attire is similar, but in a style between Indiana Jones and a dominatrix, all in black. Unlike Hoshi's boots, hers have two inch heels, and she has a heavy tool belt slung around her lean hips below the holster of her phase pistol. Next to her basic engineering tools she also has a mean-looking whip attached to the belt.

They draw interested looks as the landing party walks the corridors of Level Two, which clearly makes Hoshi uncomfortable, while Sandra doesn't seem to mind it at all. On the contrary: Ianto is getting the uncomfortable feeling that she's enjoying herself way too much.

"Don't worry," Mayweather says in a low voice. "You're fitting in just fine. There's a great deal of female cargo captains among the Free Traders; they're usually wicked and very sharp and are accordingly respected."

"Sounds familiar," Sandra comments airily and they laugh.

Even though Ianto can't help asking himself just what kind of work she might have done for Starfleet before hiring on aboard _Enterprise_. She definitely seems to fit in here better than the rest of them, even Mayweather.

As they duck under an unusually low support beam, there's a loud, buzzing sound and some sort of alien insect of the size of a man's palm lands briefly on Ianto's shoulder. Startled, his body jerks in response and the insect flies away.

Sandra shoots Ianto a surprised glance.

"Since when are you so jumpy?" she asks in a low voice so that the others won't overhear. "It's just a bug."

"If you'd had to face a man-sized Mayfly you'd be more suspicious towards bugs, too," Ianto replies. "It was after your time," he adds when she gives him a blank look. "Right before Owen got killed."

"Hmmm… that's a story you'll have to tell me as soon as we're back on _Enterprise_ ," Sandra says. "Neither UNIT nor Starfleet was very forthcoming to tell me anything that happened between Suzie's second death and the destruction of the Hub."

"I will," Ianto promises because she has a right to know. In certain ways she still _is_ Suzie, as much as she is Sandra Massaro. "Right now we should hurry up before we lose sight of the others, though."

The rest of the group has gotten a bit ahead of them, passing a narrow doorway from where eerie, dissonant alien noises are coming. Archer slows down in interest but Mayweather grabs his arm, pushing him along the way.

"No, Captain. Going in there won't be a good idea," he warns.

Archer pouts a little but lets the ensign manhandle him without protest. As Ianto, too, passes the doorway, he risks a fleeting glance inside. He can't see clearly into the room beyond, but he catches glimpses of frenetic movement within – from more than just two individuals.

"What in the world...?" he murmurs with interest.

Mayweather glances back at him. "It's nothing that concerns us… unless you want to partake in a Nausicaan ritual group mating. I won't recommend it, though, should you want to keep your limbs where they're supposed to be."

Ianto shudders and lengthens his stride to catch up with the others. They soon reach a knot of corridors, one of which leads up to the Dock Master's control tower, several others to the deeper levels of the complex.

"This is where we split," Archer announces. "Hoshi and I will go up to the tower; the rest of you mingle and snoop around a bit. Go in twos, so that you'll always have back-up."

"I thought I was to go with you, sir," Ianto says in surprise.

"I've changed my mind," Archer replies. "We can cover more ground if we go in pairs; you and Ensign Massaro are used to work together, and Travis can guide Lieutenant Reed through the pitfalls of alien encounters. Keep a channel open all the time; we don't know when we'll have to leave in a hurry. Let's go."

* * *

The Dock Master's control tower is an impressive yet unwelcoming part of the generally unwelcoming trade complex. Through large windows one can see the landing lights of alien ships coming and going through the snowy night air. The room is lit only by the monitors of various control stations, and the occasional sweep of a landing light from outside.

The Dock Master is preoccupied with monitoring the traffic. He's a burly, bald alien with flabby, reddish-grey skin that forms heavy folds on his forehead, cheeks and neck, large ears and deep-set, small dark eyes surrounded by dark rings. His fur-lined leather tunic is interwoven with decorative metal rope… unless it's part of some sophisticated personal scanner grid. It's hard to tell.

He's also clearly annoyed by the presence of Hoshi and Archer that disrupts his routine, but at least he's willing to check the records for them.

"Five or six _weeks_ ago?" he repeats in his scratchy voice as he searches the docking manifests. "Do you realize how much traffic we process in a single _day_?"

"You must keep records," Archer says helpfully. "This was a one-man, Klingon scout ship."

The small, beady eyes of the alien measure him warily. "What species are _you_?"

"Human," Archer replies. "We're called humans."

The alien grunts noncommittally as if the name won't ring a bell – which is impossible, considering that at least on two planets of the system there have been human settlers living for decades. But before Archer can press on, an alarm starts beeping. The Dock Mater checks his monitor and barks into the microphone before him.

"Elkan nine, raise your approach vector by point two radiants," then he returns to the docking manifolds. "It was _seven_ weeks ago," he finally says. 'A K'toch-class vessel."

"Does it say who he was here to see?" Archer knows how unlikely _that_ would be, but he's getting frustrated by the alien's seeming lack of attention.

The Dock Master doesn't have time for this and he makes no secret of his impatience.

"What it says is that he arrived at Docking Port Six... and was given a level one bio-hazard clearance," he snaps.

"You don't seem to be very interested in what people do here," Archer comments, mainly to vent his frustration, knowing that he won't learn more here.

He's not disappointed.

"Our visitors value their privacy," the Dock Master returns, getting pissed. "It wouldn't be very," he suddenly switches to an alien language, " _tusorop ko tuproya plo_ ," then back to English, thanks the translator "business they're in."

Archer looks to Hoshi, who's adjusting the translator she has taken out of her jacket pocket.

"I don't know what happened, Captain," she says apologetically. "Rigelian uses a pronominal base. The translator should have reprocessed the syntax without delay. Unless that last part wasn't Rigelian at all. In which case I'm afraid I don't know _what_ it was."

"It doesn't matter," Archer turns back to the Dock Master. "Do you have any records of a Suliban vessel coming in around the same time?"

The alien stiffens; even in the poor light, the loose folds of his skin can be seen to turn ash grey. But he quickly covers his shock.

"Suliban?" he replies with feigned nonchalance. "I don't know that word. Your device must still be malfunctioning."

With that, he goes back to work, studiously ignoring them.

"Come on," Archer says in a low voice. "We won't get anything else from him."

Hoshi nods. "He's clearly afraid. The Suliban must have been here, searching for Klaang, too, and put the fear of God into him. So, what are we doing now, sir?"

"Check in with the others and see what they've found out," Archer replies as they leave the control tower.

* * *

The others have split up in the meantime. Sandra and Ianto decided to go up to the central security office and make some inquiries, using her looks as a distraction, while Reed and Mayweather chose to check out Level Five. This section of the structure is filled with a cacophony of strange sounds and deep, blue-green lighting. Lots of people, some of them fairly exotic-looking, are hurrying after their business, ignoring the two humans, until Reed begins to feel quite lost.

"Perhaps we should simply ask somebody," he suggests.

Mayweather shakes his head. "I don't recommend it, sir. These people won't take it kindly if e started asking questions. We must wait for the right ones coming our way."

Reed is close to snapping at him about just how long he wants to wait, when a large, clawed hand tugs on his sleeve. The hand – which only seems to have four fingers, one of them really big, but no thumb – belongs to a small alien in a heavy woollen cloak. Under the wide hood they can make out a bald head with rat-like ears positioned on the opposite sides, wrinkled purple-grey skin and an indented ridge that runs down the middle of the alien's forehead between the small eyes, extending to the tip of its nose.

"Humans," he says in a hoarse, raspy voice. "You are… Starfleet humans."

Reed and Mayweather exchange startled looks; nobody is supposed to know _that_ here.

"What if we are?" Mayweather asks. The alien ignores the question.

"You are… looking for information," he rasps; at least Mayweather _assumes_ that it's a _he_. "You are looking… for a Klingon. You are looking… for Klaang."

"What if we are?" Reed echoes Mayweather's previous question.

"I… can help," the alien rasps. "I… saw him here. Seven weeks ago… as you count time."

" _Where_?" they ask in unison.

The alien smiles, showing a row of razor-sharp, small and uneven yellow teeth. It's not an encouraging sight.

"I… can show you where… for a price," he offers.

Reed frowns. As a proper Starfleet officer, he's not supposed to bribe prospective informants.

"I don't think we have enough local currency on us… he begins evasively.

"But why don't you show us _where_ you saw Klaang, and if we find anything useful, our captain will pay you," Mayweather interferes quickly, being more experienced with such practices.

It seems to work – for the time being anyway – because the rat-faced alien starts moving with determination. He leads them deeper and deeper to the underbelly of the complex and Mayweather is getting nervous.

"Shouldn't we call the Captain?" he asks. "He told us to stay in touch all the time."

"Maybe we should wait until we actually _have_ something to report," Reed suggests.

Mayweather isn't reassured by the answer. "How much longer?" he asks their self-proclaimed guide.

Rat-face gives them another toothy smile. "It's not very far. I promise you."

By now Mayweather isn't the only one not truly convinced. Reed is growing suspicious, too.

"Are you sure his name was Klaang?" he asks. "Couldn't it have been another Klingon you saw?"

The ratty alien tries to put on a reassuring air – with very little success.

"It was Klaang," he rasps. "I'm certain. I'll show you exactly where he was."

Reed and Mayweather exchange doubtful looks but keep moving. They can't ignore the possibility that Ratface is actually telling the truth – or, at least, part of it. Besides, Reed would like to know how the little alien has learned their true identity. So they follow him… for now.

* * *

In the meantime Sandra and Ianto have returned to Level Two where, according to Ianto's mental map, the office of Central Security can be found. They navigate their way through the labyrinth of dimly lit corridors and emerge in a sitting area: a small rest stop off the main thoroughfare with a few benches and chairs. Through a nearby window the small office of the duty officer can be seen.

"I'll go up and talk to him," Ianto offers. "Stay here and see if you can learn anything."

Sandra nods reluctantly and sits down among a bizarre assortment of aliens. She finds the waiting uncomfortable. Cloned or not, she still has the knee-jerk Torchwood reaction to unknown aliens – especially those carrying weapons. She wonders how Ianto can talk so calmly to that flabby, red-faced creature in the security office. They were trained to _eliminate_ aliens, not to socialize with them.

Well, _Suzie_ was. Living with another person's memories can truly suck sometimes.

Her attention is distracted by a quiet whimper on the side. She turns towards the noise and spots what at first sight looks like a man-sized catfish with her – his? its? – young. They both have smooth, hairless, blue-grey skin, a prominent naval lobe and what seems facial tendrils or whiskers drooping down from above their upper lips. Their ears are positioned high on their skulls and rise to points.

The little one is wearing an odd-looking breathing apparatus that releases small puffs of gas and moisture under its nose. The adult – perhaps its mother? – is tweaking a small control on the device, seemingly taunting the child, who is whimpering pitifully.

Sandra feels the familiar rage pooling in her belly. It may have been Suzie who was abused by that bastard of a father, but the memory of it is still as vivid and painful as if it had happened to _her_. She can't just sit here and watch another kind being tormented by its parent; not even if the kid looks like a catfish.

She glances back at the window. Ianto has apparently finished talking to the official because he exits through a small door, and heads toward the sitting area. He waves to Sandra to join him; she does so reluctantly. She would prefer to keep an eye on the alien mother and her helpless kid.

Ianto removes his communicator and flips it open. "Daniels to Archer."

"Go ahead," Archer's tinny voice replies.

Sandra doesn't listen to them. She's watching the baby catfish who seems to be in increasing distress. Finally, she can no longer control herself and moves to confront the mother catfish. "Hey, you…"

The alien shoots her a dirty look and ignores her. She's also wearing a breathing apparatus, one similar to that of her child. So why would she torture the little one? It doesn't make sense, and Sandra Massaro _hates_ things she can't explain.

"Central Security claims to have no record of Klaang," Ianto is telling Archer in the meantime. "But they told me about an enclave on Level Nineteen where Klingons have been known to go. Something about live food."

"Where on Level Nineteen?" Archer's voice asks.

"The easternmost subsection, by the geothermal shafts," Ianto explains and rattles down the coordinates for Archer's PADD.

"I'll meet you there as soon as I can," the captain promises. "Archer out."

Baby catfish has become nearly hysterical by now. Its mother has disconnected the breathing tube and the little one appears to be suffocating. Sandra's vision turns red; she moves to interfere with the determination of a lioness defending its cub.

"What're you doing?" she hisses angrily. "Leave the kid alone!"

Ianto grabs her by the arm. "Don't get involved."

"Do you see what she's doing?" Sandra protests. "He's going to suffocate!"

"Firstly, it's a _he_ ," Ianto replies calmly. "They're Benzites; the females aren't involved in the care of their offspring after they've transferred the embryos to the male, who then carries them to term. A bit like seahorses, actually."

"That still doesn't make torturing the kid right!" Sandra fumes.

"He's not," Ianto corrects. "In their natural environment Benzites breathe in a gas heavy in chlorine, which is exhaled in the form of carbon trichloride. The gaseous mixture also contains essential mineral salts and a lot of moisture. Benzar is an L-class planet, with lots of water, and Benzites have evolved from an aquarian race. The father is training his offspring to breathe in an oxygen/nitrogen atmosphere for a short time; it's crucial for them, should the breather be empty or malfunctioning."

Sandra gives him a look of mock disgust. "You're annoying, you know that? Have always been. You and your smug I-know-everything attitude."

"Thank you," Ianto returns, straight-faced. "I'll take that as a compliment. The thing is, though: I _do_ know everything, at least where alien species are concerned. It was my bloody _job_ at One as a junior archivist."

Sandra frowns doubtfully. "Did One ever come across these catfish people?"

"No," Ianto admits, "but I read up on 22nd century aliens while with the Doctor. I was… interested."

"And with that freakish memory of yours, of course, you haven't forgotten a thing," Sandra grumbles. "It's not fair."

Ianto shrugs. "We all have our gifts. I could never get into alien technology to understand it from within the way Suzie did… and _you_ do, I presume."

"Yeah, and a fat lot of good did it do her… or me," Sandra replies flatly. "Getting obsessed with that fucking glove and killed for it… twice."

"It's always dangerous to tinker with things beyond our understanding," Ianto agrees. "Well, come on then; the captain's waiting and we've got to go down seventeen levels."

* * *

Rat-face has led Reed and Mayweather to a part of Level Five that seems like the local red light district. It is colourfully lit by psychedelic lights that makes it hard to figure out their surroundings… or spot a potential attacker, Reed notices in concern. The pulsing of lights is almost hypnotic; he can barely turn away from them and Mayweather fares little better.

Trying to prevent the upcoming headache already throbbing behind their eyes, they seek out a podium that appears to be somewhat dimmer. Two alien women with exotic features and a swirl of silvery hair, clad in flowing, translucent robes, are swaying to an eerie rhythm. Between them a thin, undulating lantern is hanging from the roof, surrounded by dozens of flitting butterflies. The women slowly move closer to the lantern; one of them opens her mouth and arches her head. An eight-inch tongue darts out lightning-fast and snares a butterfly. The other woman does the same – _thwiip_

Rooted in the middle of a crowd of spectators, Reed and Mayweather are watching the butterfly-women with a mixture of arousal and disgust. A more thorough look reveals that what they thought were robes are actually the women's bodies that seem to be made mostly of liquid. Their flat, doll-like faces are dominated by huge, luminous eyes, and their "hair" is actually a mass of swirling, quivering tendrils, running down from the top of their heads the entire length of their backs.

They have a faint blue tint to their skin, through which, Mayweather realizes with morbid fascination, the internal structure of their bodies can be vaguely seen. It is a species not even he has seen before, and he's not sure if he regrets it or is grateful for it.

Standing nearby in the crowd, Rat-face eyes his potential customers in a calculating manner.

"Would you like to meet them?" he rasps. "I can arrange it."

Mayweather, not quite as far gone under the hypnotic alien influence as the less experienced armoury officer, gives him a sharp glance. "Is _this_ where you saw Klaang?"

"No, no, not here," Rat-face answers. "I'II show you where. But first, you should enjoy yourselves!" he turns to Reed. "Which one would you prefer?"

Reed shifts his weight uncomfortably... but he's intrigued by it all despite himself.

"We're here to learn about the Klingon..." he says evasively, but then he trails off, eyeing the… creatures in fascination. "Are those real butterflies, or some kind of holograms?"

Mayweather tugs his sleeve warningly. "We should get going, sir." But he's not moving, either.

"He's right, you know," Ianto's voice snaps them out of it. "Arcateenians rarely have actual interest in humans, unless they are in humanoid disguise – and in that case you're in danger to be eaten by them."

Mayweather shivers as he looks up at the gently swaying, luminescent figures. "Are they cannibals?"

"No," Ianto replies, stomping down on the memories of the Breckon Beacons ruthlessly. "Cannibals eat their own kind. Arcateenian squids require large amounts of energy to maintain their shape on any planet with a stronger gravitational field than their own, and the easiest way to get an energy boast is to absorb bio-energy directly by eating people. Usually, they don't do that, though; most of them are peaceful."

"How would _you_ know that?" Reed demands.

Ianto shrugs. "They visited Earth in the 21st century repeatedly. Actually, one of them was hiding on Earth for two centuries or so, in human form, murdering and eating people to keep up her disguise, until Torchwood disposed of her. It's all in the records Starfleet retrieved from UNIT – you just need to know where to look for it."

"That's archivists for you," Sandra comments when Reed and Mayweather get a bit glassy-eyed from all the information dumped on them unceremoniously. "Okay, lets move it, boys; Captain wants us to meet him on Level Nineteen.

The others agree and they start walking through the narrow arcade filled with erotic pleasures... including a topless fire-eater whom they only see from behind. It has a scaled back and a bizarrely shaped head with flat, handle-like ears and blows flaming rings, stars and other shapes into the air while undulating in a vaguely obscene manner.

Rat-face, seeing that his potential customers are about to escape his clutches, hurries after them in a most agitated manner.

"Gentlemen, gentlemen!" he snivels. "Perhaps you'd prefer to watch the inter-species performance!"

"No, thanks," Ianto replies. "I'm not really into squids; especially one that can get into my head and read my thoughts. You should have met my former boss, though – he might have taken you up on the offer."

Sandra grins like a loon, remembering Jack's hair-raising stories about kinky alien sex. Mayweather, not having the same references, is more concerned with the immediate problem.

"You don't know anything about Klaang, do you?" he asks the ratty alien accusingly.

"Of course I do," Rat-face protests, "but there's no reason to hurry."

"Inter-species performance?"" Reed echoes, getting the hint at last.

"Trust me," Sandra comments dryly, "you don't want to know." _Unless you are Jack Harkness_ , her wink at Ianto adds, and they exchange identical grins.

"Lieutenant," Mayweather says quietly. "This man has no intention of helping us."

"No, I don't think so, either," Reed agrees; then he turns to Rat-face and adds politely, because he is English, even if related to the late Owen Harper. "Perhaps another time."

As they walk away, Sandra shakes her head in exasperation. "I can't believe the fell for _that_."

"Hey!" Reed protest, mildly insulted. "We are explorers." He can't resist glancing back at the butterfly women over his shoulders.

"It is something Owen would have said, too," Ianto comments _sotto voce_ and Sandra grins.

Neither of them notices the shadowy figure watching them from a dark corner. As they pass its hiding place, the figure steps into the light, revealing the dappled flesh and dilated pupils of a Suliban.

* * *

Level Nineteen is in sharp contrast to the lively red light district; this area is desolate and eerie. Deep grinding noises from the power generators below can be heard echoing through the damp floors. Archer and Hoshi are moving cautiously past rows of geothermal ducts, which are violently venting steam.

The surroundings awake reminiscences of the prison on Guantanamo – not the cold and damp but the claustrophobic atmosphere – and Hoshi shivers from the memories.

"Isn't an enclave supposed to have _people_?" she asks in a poor attempt of a joke.

Archer shrugs philosophically. " _Enclave_ could mean a lot of things."

Hoshi is not the least reassured by the semantics. In fact, she is getting a little spooked.

"Petty Officer Daniels said something about _live_ food," she murmurs nervously. "I don't see any restaurants here."

Archer doesn't respond. His senses are at full alert; he knows how likely is that they are walking straight into a trap. Suddenly he manages to get a glimpse of _something_. In the distance, two Klingons are quickly moving through the shadows away from them.

He calls out instinctively. "Hello... excuse me!"

The Klingons don't answer – unless an angry snarl counts as an answer. Instead, they continue to move away with great urgency.

"I don't like this, "Archer states grimly. "Call them in their own language!"

" _Ha'quj jeg_!" Hoshi calls out obediently in Klingon.

Again, there is no response. The Klingons are gone.

"That's odd," Hoshi remarks. "They looked Klingon to me… they should have understand. Perhaps they speak a different dialect?"

Archer doesn't get the chance to say anything. Odd scratching sounds cause them both to look about.

"Something isn't right here," Archer flips open his communicator. "Archer to Daniels," he waits for a moment, then repeats. "Daniels, come in."

Again, no response, save for the noise that is now them. They look up but can't see anything that could have caused it. Hoshi's anxiety is rising.

"Maybe we should get back to where there are more people," she suggests.

Archer draws his pistol. "Oh, there are plenty of people right here," he says grimly. "Stay behind me."

Hoshi is all too happy to obey. As they move through the shadows, the pounding of the machinery below seems to accentuate, until it blocks out all other noise. Hoshi can feel the pounding in her very bones and prays desperately for the whole thing to be over, soon.

As they pass by an erupting geothermal duct, suddenly a Suliban emerges from the billowing steam and grabs Hoshi, who is too shocked to do anything else but scream. Like a dumb blonde in one of those 1950s B-movies, she would later describe her reaction in self-disgust.

Reacting to her scream, Archer whirls around to take aim, but two more Suliban rush at him from different directions. His pistol is knocked from his hand. He swings and gets off a couple of good punches at one of the attackers, but the Suliban is unfazed and they quickly immobilize him, pulling both him and Hoshi into the darkness.

They emerge again a short time later, in a steamy maze of vertical, diagonal and horizontal conduits, escorted by the three Suliban, who now hold Archer's plasma pistol. The situation has vague similarities to an official arrest.

"Do you think they're taking us to their leader?" Archer jokes.

Hoshi's wordless glare speaks volumes.

"No, I don't think so, either," he continues, completely unfazed by the fact that they've been captured.

Hoshi gives him another glare. "Be careful what you wish for, Captain – you might get it!"

Where they're actually brought is a small, open area, where Sandra and Ianto are already being held. It's obviously very warm in there because Sandra has already shed her parka and is about to get rid of her blouse without taking off her corset.

"What?" she snaps at Archer whose eyes are widening at the sight. "It's boiling hot in here; and it's not as if the lizards would care."

The Suliban seem fairly indifferent indeed. One of them takes out a hand-held device, works it briefly, and a previously unnoticed energy field flashes on. Hoshi is led into the room, which is clearly an improvised holding cell of some sort. Then the guard steps back and the energy field flashes on again.

It must be sealing the holding are uptight, as the air is sticky and intensely hot behind it. Hoshi begins to sweat immediately and sheds her parka without a second thought.

The Suliban are unaffected by the temperature, which is deeply unfair, but that's lizards to you.

Archer doesn't get put in with the others; instead, two of the Suliban lead him away.

"Perhaps they do take him to their leader," Hoshi mutters under her breath. Sandra and Ianto get the hint and grin.

"I just hope he's not planning to make any long speeches," Ianto says and takes off his parka, too. "I don't want to find out whether death is quicker by suffocating or by being boiled in my own juices."

Sandra nods and finishes shedding her blouse. "How can you bear wearing so much?" she asks Hoshi.

"It's only slightly worse than a Brazilian rain forest," their exolinguist replies. "Where are Travis and Lieutenant Reed, by the way?"

"I've sent them back to the shuttlepod," Ianto admits. "We may have to leave here abruptly – if we can, that is – and a trained security officer to shoot our way free from the other end may come in handy."

"And Lieutenant Reed did as you told him?" Hoshi has a hard time to believe that.

Ianto shrugs. "I said him it was Captain's orders."

"And if he checks it with the captain?"

"He won't be able. There's a storm coming up that will render communications into unintelligible background noise within minutes."

"I wouldn't call _that_ a good thing," Hoshi says.

"Neither do I," Ianto agrees. "It will cause us additional problems. But at least Lieutenant Reed and Ensign Mayweather are safe – for the moment."

~TBC~


	8. Chapter 8: A Woman Called Sarin

**A Matter of Time**

 **by Soledad**

For disclaimer, rating, etc., see the Introduction.

As you can see, there are significant changes to canon. Don't let the screen dialogue mislead you. ;)

Again, some lines of description are borrowed from the first, rejected script. I found it would be a waste to leave them unused.

* * *

 **Chapter 08 – A Woman Called Sarin**

In the meantime Jack Archer has been led into an area with simple sleeping cots, tables as chairs, as well as a few highly sophisticated yet portable computers, observation equipment and other tech gizmos the purpose of which he can't even begin to guess. This underground level clearly has served as the base of operations for a small group of dissidents for a while. Suliban, most likely, though Archer doubts that these would be the same ones that infiltrated his ship and abducted the Klingon.

For starters, they are wearing ordinary clothes, not the biomimetic garment the dead infiltrator in Sickbay was wearing. And while they have the same dappled skin and bald heads, their eyes show the normal, slitted pupils many reptilian species sport, not the unproportionally blown ones that would give them enhanced vision.

The two guards leave him in the middle of the seemingly empty room and retreat. Following his training, Archer takes a good, hard look at the bizarre surroundings, trying to spot side exits or places where potential attackers could be hiding. He can't find any – not in plain sight anyway – and is a bit startled when a soft female voice addresses him, seemingly coming out of nowhere. It takes him a moment to realize that the voice is actually speaking _English_.

"You're looking for Klaang – why?" it asks.

Archer glances around, trying to find the source of the voice. "Who the hell are you?" he demands. "Show yourself!"

He doesn't really expect the invisible woman to do so but he is wrong. A small, sinuous figure, wearing the same skin-tight leggings and hooded tunic as his attackers, emerges from the shadows and comes slowly closer.

"My name is Sarin," she says and Archer recognizes the name as one of the words spoken by the Klingon that Hoshi was unable to translate. Now he knows why.

The woman comes closer; the light falls onto her face, half-hidden by the hood, revealing delicate features and large, dark eyes. "Tell me about the people who took Klaang off your ship."

"I was hoping _you_ could tell _me_ ," Archer replies. "They looked a lot like your friends outside."

Sarin circles him slowly, in ever-narrowing circles, like a lioness its prey. "Where were you taking him?"

Archer is not ready to tell her _that_. Not yet. Not before he learns a bit more about her and her role in this whole conspiracy.

"How come you don't look like your friends?" he asks instead.

She looks at him in unsmiling amusement. "Would you prefer I did?"

She's uncomfortably close now and Archer needs all his willpower to hold her almost hypnotic gaze without taking an involuntary step backwards.

"What I'd prefer is that you give me Klaang back," he replies with a confidence he doesn't really feel.

"So you could take him… where exactly?" Sarin presses on, now mere inches from his face.

"Home," Archer replies truthfully. "We were just taking him home."

She inches away... seems to be gauging him and Archer is getting fed up with the whole act.

"You'd better be careful," he says wryly, plastering his biggest, fakest smile over his face. "I'm a lot bigger than you are."

She moves her face close to his again. "If you're thinking about harming me, I'd advise against it," she warns, running the back of her hand along his – admittedly dashing – jaw line. Somehow Archer doesn't think she's hitting on him, though.

"What are you doing?" he demands.

What she is doing is moving her fingers across his face. They are ice cold, and a shiver runs down his spine… and not in a good way.

"Why were you taking Klaang home?" she insists, still caressing his face. But Archer has had enough and doesn't feel the least cooperative.

"You know, under different circumstances, I might be flattered by this, but..."

He can't finish the sentence because she kisses him on the mouth without forewarning. Then she steps a few feet back – and transforms into a swaying, half-translucent blue creature with a flat, doll-like face, a pair of huge, luminous eyes and a mass of wriggling tendrils that cascade from the top of her head down the entire length of her back.

"Well," Archer says when the shock has settled a bit. " _That's_ never happened before. What the hell are you and what have you got to do with Klaang… _and_ the Suliban?"

She sways a little like a young tree in the wind.

"My apologies, Captain. Without my booster crystal, I only can read your thoughts during close contact. Unfortunately, it has been taken from me; and I needed to see if I can trust you."

" _What_ are you?" Archer repeats. "You're not Suliban…"

"No," she replies. "Our species hails from Arcateenia V; we're known on Earth as the Arcans… or the Butterfly People."

Archer shakes his head. "No way! I've never heard of you guys. Were you known back home, I would have."

"Ask the young one who came with you," she says. "The one who was Torchwood. He'll know. He recognized the others."

She means Daniels, Archer realizes, making a mental notice to have a _very_ serious talk with his quartermaster. Eventually. Right now, he has other, more pressing issues to deal with.

"But you _are_ in liege with the Suliban, aren't you?" he asks.

"Not with the Cabal," she corrects. "Not all Suliban are terrorists. Many of them have understood that the price of evolution was too high."

"Evolution?" Archer echoes.

"Some of them are so anxious to 'improve' themselves that they've lost perspective," she explains. "Some of the others came to us for help, as they got ostracized for the crimes of the Cabal."

Archer is baffled by what she's saying – in truth, he doesn't even understand half of it. Apparently, the Cabal is some Suliban terrorist faction, but why would they want to infiltrate his ship and abduct a Klingon courier is still unclear.

"Why come to you?" he finally asks. "Why not, say, ask the Vulcans to intervene?"

"The current Vulcan government is way too inflexible to be of any use," she says matter-of-factly, and Archer wishes T'Pol would be here. "Besides, we've lived on this planet for more than a century. We are known to many other species. They know what we can do."

"For more than a century?" Archer finds that hard to believe.

She sways a little again; her equivalent of a shrug. "We're a long-living species; more so than the Vulcans, even. I'm four of your centuries old. I've visited your planet a few times, too."

Archer files that piece of information away for later use and returns to the question at hand.

"So you know I'm not lying to you," he says. "Now what?"

"Now we must find Klaang," she says. "He was carrying a message to his people. It is of utmost importance that the message arrives."

"How do you know that?" Archer asks, growing suspicious again.

"I gave it to him," she answers simply.

 _That_ shuts Archer up for a moment. "What kind of message?" he then asks.

"The Suliban have been staging attacks within the Klingon Empire; making it appear that one faction is attacking another," she explains. "Klaang was bringing proof of this to his High Council. Without that proof, the Empire could be thrown into chaos."

"Why would the Suliban want that?" the mere image of several billion battle-crazy Klingons at each other's throats is enough to make Archer shudder. Especially when he considers the victorious faction turning on other people afterwards.

"The Cabal doesn't make decisions on its own," she replies. "They're simply soldiers, fighting a time war."

Archer shakes his head. "A time war? You've lost me."

"They're taking orders from the distant future," she explains. "They are trying to manipulate current events, so that they can cause significant changes in the future."

"What for?" Archer asks, baffled.

He's not as reluctant to accept the possibility as other people would be – he's a Harkness, after all, and one familiar with the concept of time travel, due to his ancestors. He just can't imagine the _reason_ for it. Time is a delicate thing, and manipulating it can easily end in a horrible disaster, for everyone involved.

"I don't know," Sarin admits. "But we must do our best to stop them, to save our own future. We can help you find Klaang, but we don't have a starship. Our travelling pods can't transport… er… _solid_ passengers. You'll have to take us with you."

It sounds very logical, but Jack Archer isn't the kind of person that would trust easily. Especially not strangers who kidnap him from the street and throw his people in a cell. He says so.

"That can be redeemed," Sarin answers and changes her looks again – this time to that of a Suliban.

At the same moment, there's a blinding flash of blue light as a weapons discharge strikes the nearby computer station, blowing it apart.

"We've been found!" Sarin states, eerily calm. "We must leave immediately."

Another weapons blast hits closer to them. Sarin rushes out of the area, Archer hot on her heals, just as two Suliban attackers move into the room and start firing at them.

* * *

The other three, in the meantime, have been trying to make the best of the fact that they've been temporarily left alone. Well… Sandra and Ianto have. Hoshi has been sitting in a corner, hugging herself and watching them anxiously all the time.

"Have you managed to record the shield frequency?" Sandra asks, and Ianto checks his stopwatch – which isn't a stopwatch at all. Well, it _does_ measure time, too, but has half a dozen other functions as well. Agent Danlen wanted him to be prepared for all eventualities.

"I've got a close guess but not the exact frequency," he admits unhappily. "The impulse was far too short."

"Then we'll have to give it a few tried," Sandra opens her corset and pulls out a small instrument from a place most women would consider private. "Let us produce magnetic resonances, then."

She switches on the instrument, which begins to vibrate in her hand, looking disturbingly like a sex toy. Lieutenant Reed becomes beet red and desperately tires to avoid looking at her, while Ianto is matter-of-factly checking the frequency with his stopwatch, as if this were the most normal, everyday event.

Actually, by Torchwood measures it is – and it's not Sandra's fault that the portable magnetic resonator looks the way it does. Besides, having worked for Jack Harkness one does not longer get embarrassed easily.

"Gotcha!" Ianto says after a minute or so. "Prepare to run as soon as the force field collapses; it may send an alarm signal to the guards."

"This is the most ridiculous jail break, ever!" Hoshi murmurs.

"You should have seen me demolish a solid concrete cell with a forklift to free my boss who was embedded in it," Ianto replies dryly; then the energy field flashes, fritzes terrifyingly – and collapses, and Ianto yells. "Run!"

For a moment, they all freeze on the spot, though, because they can now hear weapons fire and people yelling a little farther down in the corridors. One Suliban, by his clothes one of their capturers, stumbles onto the corridor and drops dead. Another one is exchanging weapons fire with two attackers – also Suliban, but clearly from the group that has infiltrated _Enterprise_ to abduct the Klingon, because they are wearing the same biomimetic garment.

The local Suliban blasts one attacker, who falls to the ground, but he is killed by the second immediately. The Suliban attacker then turns on the landing party, and Ianto is painfully aware of the fact that they have nothing to shoot back with, as their weapons have been confiscated upon their imprisonment. He seriously doubts that Sandra's magnetic resonator would do them any good against an energy weapon.

Fortunately, at this moment Sarin and Archer come in running. Sarin, who is still in Suliban disguise, takes aim and fires at the Attacker, blowing him off his feet. She then rushes to a nearby locker, opens it and starts handing the baffled _Enterprise_ crew their phase-pistols.

"Where's your vessel?" she then asks.

"On the roof," Archer replies, deciding to trust her – for now. "Docking Port three."

She nods. "We must hurry," she says. "My allies won't be able to hold off the Cabal much longer."

They move on, as quickly as they can while watching their surroundings cautiously. It is Hoshi who happens to look up and spots another two Suliban, one chasing the other along the underside of a diagonal conduit high above the ground. Both appear to defy gravity, rapidly crawling along the pipe. Clearly, their abilities are not _all_ the result of advanced genetic engineering. It's like watching some giant, mutant spiders in a horror movie.

"Captain," she whispers, frightened.

Archer follows her look and watches the two Suliban are ducking and weaving through the maze of conduits with heightened agility, firing at each other or at assailants. Assailants he cannot see. Suddenly one of them – by his clothes one of Sarin's allies – is struck down by a weapons blast. Archer raises his phase pistol, takes aim and calmly shoots the other one mid-leap.

"Nice reflexes, Captain," Ianto comments and Archer grins at him like a shark, with steel in his blue eyes.

But their time is running out rapidly; in the distance, they can see flashes of weapons fire as the battle – Suliban against Suliban – rages on.

"Come with me," Sarin urges them. "We must leave while we still can!"

She navigates the jungle of pipes and conduits calmly and they follow her – they have no other choice. After a great deal of meandering along similar-looking corridors, they finally come to a massive vertical conduit.

"This way," Sarin says. She hits a control, which opens a hatch leading into the large pipe. Inside we see a circular platform a couple of feet above the deck – clearly some sort of elevator.

"Climb on, quickly," she says, stepping over to the control mechanism that has to be operated from the outside of the elevator.

Sandra is the first one to swing up onto the platform, not requiring help from any of the men. She even yanks a hesitant Ianto after her unceremoniously. Hoshi, however, seems unable to move; she is standing in front of the conduit as if rooted in the concrete floor and stares at them with wide, terrified eyes. Ianto realizes that she must be claustrophobic, perhaps as a result of her time spent in a small, windowless prison cell.

"Captain," he says to Archer sharply. " _Do_ something!"

Archer grabs Hoshi at the waist and practically throws her at Ianto like a rag doll, jumping after her. Sarin pulls a series of levers, and they can hear the rushing sound of thermal energy as and the platform begins to tremble slightly. Hoshi is shaking in her boots, nanoseconds away from a full-blown panic attack. Sandra throws an arm over her shoulders, more to keep her from bolting than for any other reason. Like Suzie wasn't, she's not the world's most sensitive person.

Sarin steps away from the control mechanism and moves to join them on the platform – when she's hit in the back by a weapons blast. One of the attackers has caught up with them and has just fired the shot from across the room, weapon trained on Sarin… and now he's firing again.

Ianto recognizes him from the holopictures he was shown on Futurama: it is Silik, the Cabal leader. Without thinking, he jumps off the platform, eager to deal with his main target right away, archer hot on his heels.

"Look after her, sir," he calls over his shoulder. "I'll take on the shooter."

To his credit, Archer realizes the logic of the suggestion and runs to Sarin who's still being fired at. The points of impact glow and sizzle as they burn their way into her writhing body.

Ianto takes aim and fires at Silik, determined to remove him from the game. But the Cabal leader is an experienced fighter and takes cover behind an outcropping of pipes.

Archer kneels down to help the dying Sarin, but he sees at once that for her all help comes too late.

"Find… Klaang," she murmurs raggedly; then her Suliban disguise fails and she turns into a puddle of silver-blue liquid, splashing onto the dirty concrete and quickly evaporating like water damp.

Realizes there's nothing he can do, Archer stands. "Daniels!" he calls out to Ianto, firing his own pistol at the hiding Suliban as well. "Retreat!"

He jumps back onto the trembling platform, quickly followed by Ianto, just as a weapons blast strikes nearby. Archer slides the hatch shut, and the moment he does, the platform blasts upward through the vertical shaft, shooting past at rapid speed, propelled by a roiling pillar of steam.

* * *

They emerge in the middle of a ferocious arctic storm that blankets the rooftop of the trade complex. An access port on the deck opens automatically at the roaring sound of the approaching platform – or so it seems. More likely is that the thing has proximity sensors, Sandra thinks practically, the dramatic effect not working on her at all, which is a good thing in her eyes. _One_ panicking girl per crisis is enough.

Seconds later the platform emerges from the conduit and stops two foot above the deck. Steam blasts out in all directions from the opening below it, billowing into the freezing air, and Sandra starts shivering. She didn't have the time to snatch her coat before they bolted and is now half-naked from the waist upward in the frigid wind and snow. Ianto, also still covered with sweat from the heat below, wordlessly takes off his parka and hands it to her. It is way too big – Ianto has a barrel chest and wide shoulders – but blessedly warm, and she snuggles into it gratefully.

Archer is the first to jump off the platform. "Let's go!" he calls out to the others.

They follow him onto the deck. Hoshi is still fairly shaken by the recent events, but has actually managed to pull herself together, now that she has solid floor under her feet again, and more than eager to leave this place.

"Where's the pod?" she asks, trying to raise her voice over the wind.

Ianto mentally checks the layout of the place and points to their left unerringly. "Over here!"

"No," Sandra argues, pointing straight forward. "It's this way!"

Archer weighs the two options. He seems hesitant, which is surprising: as a pilot, he ought to have a better sense of direction. But perhaps it's the snowstorm that affects him. As he originated from a desert planet, Jack hated snow, too.

In the end, the captain chooses to go in Sandra's direction, heading toward an obscured shape with two light sources – what he believes is their shuttlepod. Ianto is fairly sure it's _not_ , but he knows that arguing with a Harkness once they've made up their bloody minds would be a waste of time, so he goes after them, against his better judgement.

"Let's alert the others that we're on our way," Archer removes his communicator and flips it open. "Lieutenant Reed, this is Archer! Come in!"

After a moment of nothing but static buzz, they hear a heavily distorted voice that sounds like " _zzzzzzzk-gggggguzzzzzzt_ ". They can't even tell whether it's Reed's voice or not.

"We're on the roof!" Archer continues nonetheless, in the vague hope that at least _they_ would understand him. "You need to get up here as quickly as…" he trails off as the connection breaks and there's nothing but static again.

* * *

In the _Enterprise_ shuttlepod, which is still sitting safely on the landing deck where they parked it, Reed and Mayweather are warm and dry, but they're watching as the snow storm rage outside the window with increasing concern

"We should have heard from them by now," Travis says worriedly.

"I'm working on it," Reed answers through gritted teeth and tries to bully the comm. system into cooperating. It seems to work, too; they recognize Archer's voice, even though it is too heavily distorted to understand a word of what he's saying.

"We've been trying to reach you, Captain," Reed says, hoping that communications may work in the other direction. "We're back in the shuttlepod, ready to take off."

Mayweather frowns at the monitor. "Ask him where they are; and tell him to hurry up. This storm's getting worse."

"Captain, what's your location?" Reed practically shouts at the comm. "The weather is worsening, you must return to the pod, _now_!"

There is no answer. He gives up and looks at Mayweather helplessly, who sighs.

"I'll try to find them with the help of the external sensors," the pilot offers. "But in this storm."

Reed nods glumly. He knows the odds, and they are not in their favour.

"Do your best," he says.

* * *

Archer and the others still on the move. They can't understand a word of what Reed – if it was Reed at all whom they've managed to reach – is saying, so Archer closes his communicator in frustration and pockets it. But at least they are approaching the two lights ahead of them. As they move closer to the obscured shape, however, it turns out nothing more than an empty docking port.

"Great!" Hoshi comments sarcastically. She's calmed down a bit, but now she's cold and miserable. They all are.

"Like I said, it's over there," Ianto waves in the direction he's suggested before.

"No need to be smug, Jones!" Sandra mutters under her breath, so that only the two of them can hear.

" _Daniels_!" he corrects automatically and Sandra shrugs.

"Whatever," but her eyes are twinkling.

Their banter is rudely interrupted when suddenly a weapons blast shoots past them, blowing one of the lights off the docking port. The shortcut with the elevator clearly hasn't shaken off their pursuers. Either that, or the Suliban have sent in reinforcements to intercept them.

"Weapons!" Archer yells.

Ianto draws his pistol and shoos the women to follow the captain across the icy deck while he gives them cover. In theory, Sandra could take care of herself, but right now she's hindered by Ianto's parka she's wearing; plus she has to look after Hoshi who's never been in a firefight before. They run headfirst into the storm, vanishing from the eyes of their attackers, though well aware of the fact that the Suliban are following them.

Running on the icy surface in search for their shuttlepod is almost like one of Owen's favourite video games were – only that in _this_ game they cannot afford to lose. As Suliban weapons fire strikes nearby, they are forced to scatter, running for dear life on their own.

In the darkened storm, the firefight takes on an almost eerie beauty, with Starfleet pistols firing deep red plasma bullets and Suliban weapons firing hot blue beams, all of it cutting through the swirling snow. On a computer screen, it would be a breath-taking sight. Living through it for real takes away much of the appeal, Ianto finds.

* * *

In the shuttlepod, Reed and Mayweather are getting more and more anxious with each passing moment. Especially as they see a muted flash of light through the window.

"I've never seen lightning in a snowstorm before," Reed says with a frown.

Mayweather shrugs. Planetary weather is still an enigma to him. He's more concerned about its effect on the ship's systems.

"The storm's kicking up too much interference," he complains, staring at the sensor readings unhappily. "I can't isolate human bio-signs. They could be anywhere in the complex."

"Try looking for the frequency of our pistols," Reed suggests, joining him at the monitor. "I have the feeling that what I've seen wasn't lightning, after all."

"You think they got into a fight?" Mayweather asks.

Reed nods. "More likely than lightning in a snowstorm anyway."

There is a slight _thump_ from outside. Reed looks up from a monitor for a moment but can't see anything, so he decides it must have been the wind pounding on the outer hull and returns to his work.

"Still nothing," he mutters. "We should turn on the emergency amplifier."

Mayweather nods and does so; still no results. The thumping sound repeats, however, and he turns in search of the source… and sees Sandra Massaro at the window, wearing a parka clearly not her own, being battered by the storm outside.

"Lieutenant, I've found Ensign Massaro!" he calls.

Reed whirly around. Sandra is plastered at the window by the storm, her hair and face all but encrusted in icy crystals.

"The emergency hatch!" Reed says. "Quickly!"

The two men quickly hurry over to the emergency hatch and operate the release mechanism. The door pops out a few inches and slowly begins to lower; a gush of cold air blows into the shuttle.

"Blimey," Reed mutters. "It's too slow!

* * *

The other three, shivering with cold, are looking for cover as the Suliban weapons fire strikes around them. Ianto ducks behind a low wall and continues to fire back, giving Archer and Hoshi, who are on the move, as much cover as he can. Archer has one hand on Hoshi's arm, while he, too, fires towards the Suliban.

The shuttle hatch is lowering into place, but the Suliban are closing in on the team rapidly. Right now, it's just Silik and his cohort, but it won't remain so; and besides, what they lack in numbers, they make up in firepower. Ianto seriously doubts that they would be able to reach the shuttlepod unharmed, especially if more Suliban fighters are about to show up.

A loud roaring sound from above catches their attention; even the Suliban stop and look up – to see a departing alien vessel (an Arcturian freighter, Ianto's memory supplies) passing slowly overhead, its running lights barely visible through the storm. The blast from its thrusters' exhaust blows wildly across the deck!

The Suliban squat down and protect their faces. Sandra, who is directly below the passing ship, gets caught in its powerful exhaust. She's knocked off her feet and blown across the slippery deck.

Archer and Hoshi watch the alien ship with awe as it moves away. Only when the roar dies down does the captain turn around to assess the situation. He realizes that Sandra is now isolated halfway between the shuttle and the Suliban. She is lying on the deck, dazed and obviously in pain. She's alone and unarmed, as the impact has knocked her pistol off her hand – an easy target.

The Suliban, too, rise from their crouching position and take notice of the defenceless woman. Archer and Ianto move at the same time: Ianto in Sandra's direction, while Archer turns to Hoshi.

"Get to the ship – _now_!" he barks, not wanting an inexperienced rookie to endanger them (and herself) even more. Hoshi has the common sense to flee towards the shuttlepod like a frightened deer.

Archer whirls around and runs directly at the Suliban, firing from his raised pistol. One of Silik's men is hit. Silik and his remaining cohort – or is that the reinforcement already? – take cover.

"Go!" Archer shouts at Ianto. He's reached the spot where Sandra's weapon had fallen and scoops it up without missing a beat. Ianto, firing continuously, catches up with him.

"The _Enterprise_ needs its captain," he calls over the wind. "Give me the weapons, sir, and I'll keep your path free.

Archer doesn't even look at him. "I said _go_!" he snarls.

Ianto hesitates for a moment, but then recognizes the stubborn look on Archer's face and knows the captain's not going to change his mind. The trademark Harkness stubbornness gene has clearly been handed down from generation to generation in the family… unfortunately, without the immortality that always saved _Jack_ from the consequences of his reckless stupidity.

Ianto shakes his head and takes off towards the shuttlepod. Getting both of them killed won't help anyone; and he still has his mission, with or without Archer. Granted, it would be much more complicated without the help of the captain, so he fervently hopes that they'll get both away unharmed, but as always, there are no guarantees.

As he breaks into a run, he sees from the corner of his eye that Archer, too, is edging towards the shuttlepod, while firing from both weapons in an honest-to-Earth, trademark Jack Harkness superhero fashion. Memories of the Breckon Beacons resurface and Ianto catches himself expecting to see a tractor somehow…

He shakes his head again and keeps running.

In the meantime Hoshi has reached the shuttlepod and is looking out through the hatch anxiously. Mayweather is sitting at the helm, preparing for launch, while Reed jumps out of the open hatch and pulls Sandra inside to safety.

Ianto climbs into the ship but turns back in the hatch to provide cover for Archer, who's getting closer to the shuttlepod, firing shot after shot at the Suliban who are in hot pursuit. Silik and his man separate, forcing him to choose a target, which leaves him vulnerable to the other attacker. Archer realizes the strategic value of their move and pulls a face – he's clearly in disadvantage now, as Ianto has no clear line of shot from his position.

Having almost reached the shuttlepod, Archer aims slightly left, going for the closer and thus presumably easier target. He manages to shot the Suliban point blank between the eyes – not a small feet with such lightning-fast adversaries and by he less than ideal visibility – but then he's hit in the leg by a blast from Silik's weapon. He falls and grimaces as the point of impact burns its way into his flesh.

Another shot hits nearby, barely missing him. The nauseating stench of burnt flesh is heavy in the air, despite the raging storm, and Ianto fights the urge to get violently sick.

At this moment Reed jumps onto the deck next to him.

"Get the captain!" the armoury officer yells in a clipped military tone and opens fire. Ianto throws his own weapon through the hatch and pulls Archer into the shuttlepod – it's a good thing that he's used to move helpless people of Jack's size and weight. Reed, firing continuously in the Suliban's direction, edges backwards after him.

"Initiate launch!" he yells at Mayweather and closes the hatch with the help of the emergency button.

Mayweather nods, and soon they can hear the whine of the engines. Something appears to be wrong, though. Ianto is not an engineer, but he can tell that the pitch is different from what it's supposed to be.

"The starboard thruster's down," Mayweather reports unhappily. "It might have been damaged when we crossed the atmosphere; there was a lot of inonization in the upper layers."

Sandra clambers to her feet, though her teeth are still clattering from the cold.

"Ignore it," she says. "I'll fix it underway. Just take us up!"

Mayweather looks uncertainly at Reed, who is now the ranking officer among them, and the armoury officer frowns.

"Can you launch with just the one thrusters working?" he asks.

"Of course, sir, but it's gonna be a bumpy ride," he helmsman replies. "And we might need _Enterprise_ to pull us in with the grapplers, should Ensign Massaro fail to fix the starboard thrusters."

"Then do it," Reed says, ignoring Sandra's derisive snort.

Ianto suppresses a grin. If Sandra is _anything_ like Suzie, she'll fix the thrusters with the help of paper clips and cellotape, of that he's fairly certain. Suzie could mcgyver together just about everything; got even the most exotic alien technology working if she had to.

As they lift off, the shuttlepod jolts slightly… then again. Hoshi, kneeling by Archer, who is badly wounded and lying on the floor, barely conscious, grabs hold of a bulkhead and tries to stomp down on her panic.

"What was that?" she asks with a slightly hysterical undertone in her voice.

Ianto looks at the security monitor. "The Suliban got reinforcements," he says. "I suggest we leave here as soon as possible.

"Hold on!" Mayweather warns; then he yanks the joystick as far back as he can, throwing them into an emergency take-off.

On the rooftop, Silik and his newly arrived men keep firing at the shuttlepod until it disappears into the storm above, but they can't score any more hits. Realizing this, they lower their weapons. Silik turns to his cohorts, grim-faced.

"We need instructions," he states flatly.

* * *

Navigating the shuttlepod through the raging storm with only one functioning thrusters proves trickier than expected. The small vessel is trembling in the violent winds, its lights are flickering. Mayweather needs all his skills to keep it airborne.

Ianto, once again, tries his best _not_ to get sick. It's not just the motion sickness, though; he's nervous because Archer has passed out from the blood loss and they have nothing in the emergency kit they could treat the wound with, even though Hoshi has given him a shot against infection.

Sandra has discarded Ianto's parka and crawled into an open panel to the waist. One doesn't have to be an engineer to know that she's taking high risks trying to fix their thrusters under the less than ideal circumstances. But fix it she does, and by the time they clear the atmosphere the shuttlepod's trajectory levels out and it keeps flying smoothly.

"Good work, Ensign," Reed comments when she crawls back out onto the floor, her bare arms and shoulders covered with grime. She grins broadly.

"It was child's play, sir: just a few controls shaken lose. Any first-year engineering cadet could have fixed it," then her grin fades and she shudders. "My kingdom for a long, hot shower, though."

Ianto nods in agreement; a hot shower would definitely be a blessing. Then he looks at Reed.

"We need to report in, sir."

"Right," Reed agrees. "Open a channel," he then says to Mayweather who hits a control wordlessly. "Lieutenant Reed to _Enterprise_."

"Go ahead," T'Pol's cold voice answers.

"We'll be docking in four minutes," Reed tells her. "Have Doctor Phlox meet us in Decon."

"Acknowledged," T'Pol says. "Is someone wounded?"

"The Captain," Reed admits, giving the unconscious Archer a worried look. "It doesn't look well."

There is a pregnant pause at the other end of the connection.

"Understood," T'Pol finally says calmly. "In that case I am taking command of _Enterprise_."

~TBC~


	9. Chapter 9: Rest & Recovery

**A Matter of Time**

 **by Soledad**

For disclaimer, rating, etc., see the Introduction.

The immunization procedure is borrowed from the original "Andromeda Strain" movie because it makes much more sense than the stupid blue gel in canon. Some lines of the dialogue have been taken from the first draft of the pilot episode.

* * *

 **Chapter 09 – Rest & Recovery**

"I am taking command of _Enterprise_ ," T'Pol declares matter-of-factly when they learn that the captain has been wounded.

There is a moment of shocked silence on the bridge; then Commander Tucker says in a low, dangerous voice, "The hell you are! Correct me if I'm wrong, but aren't you just kind of an _observer_ on this mission? I don't remember anyone telling me you were a member of Starfleet."

"My Vulcan rank supersedes yours," T'Pol tells him with the cold arrogance so characteristic for her people.

Tucker forces himself to remain calm. It's not easy, but he manages to do so… barely.

"No, it doesn't," he replies. "This is an Earth vessel and I am her executive officer. You're in no position to take command. If anyone, _I am_ entitled to do so."

T'Pol gives him an icily superior glare. "As soon as I have checked on the condition of the landing party, I shall contact Ambassador Soval. He will speak to your superiors and I am certain they'll support my authority in this situation."

"You can't let her make that call, Commander," Lieutenant Fuller, Reed's second-in-command warns Tucker. "If she does, the mission is over."

"I know that," Tucker answers grimly and looks at Crewman Baird, Hoshi's ersatz at the comm. "Maintain complete radio silence, Crewman. No calls in or out until I say so."

Baird nods and takes the comm system off-line. T'Pol gives Tucker a look of cold disdain.

"That will not change anything, Commander," she declares. "Or do you truly believe I cannot find a way around your block?"

The answering look Tucker gives her is full of disgust… almost hatred.

"You must really be proud of yourself… trying to put an end to this mission while the Captain's still unconscious in Sickbay. You won't even have to look him in the eye."

"Your precious _cargo_ was stolen," T'Pol reminds him coldly. "Several Suliban and other people were killed... and Captain Archer has been seriously wounded. It seems to me this _mission_ has put an end to itself."

"No, it hasn't!" Tucker replies stubbornly. "Jack isn't dead yet, and I won't allow you to stab him in the back while he cannot defend himself. He deserves a chance to see this through. If you knew him, you'd realize that's what he's about. He needs to finish what he starts. His father was the same way," he adds pointedly.

T'Pol arches a superior Vulcan eyebrow at him. "You obviously share your Captain's belief that my people were responsible for impeding Henry Archer's accomplishments."

"Weren't they?" Tucker returns, hostility unveiled in his voice. "He only wanted to see his engine fly... they never even gave him a chance to fail. I won't allow you to do the same to Jack; and make no mistake, I'll shoot you or have you thrown into the brig if I have to!"

T'Pol is completely unfazed by the threat. "You are being overly emotional," she says.

"You bet I am," Tucker replies. "Now, I'm giving you the choice: help us finish our mission or spend the rest of it in a cell. It's up to you."

"You cannot threaten me," T'Pol says evenly.

"I'm not," Tucker answers with a shrug. "I'm trying to appeal to that much-prized logic of yours. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to Sickbay. You can come with me, or you can stay here under the watchful eye of Lieutenant Fuller. Your choice."

* * *

In Sickbay, neither Sandra nor Ianto is happy to be separated from their wounded captain. Granted, Archer is not _their_ captain… only that, in a way, he is. Doctor Phlox, however, is not impressed and shoos them into the decontamination unit.

"Is this really necessary?" Ianto asks impatiently.

"I'm afraid it is," the Denobulan replies in his usual, annoyingly cheerful manner.

"I don't see you putting the others here," Ianto tries to argue, but the doctor is adamant.

"The others scanned negative. You two, unfortunately, were exposed to a protocystian spore; so we'll start decontamination and immunization procedures immediately. It is a two-phase process that takes some time, but you should be ready by the time I've repaired Captain Archer's femoral artery. Please proceed to the infrared radiation decontamination room and let me do my job."

Sandra and Ianto exchange annoyed looks, but there's nothing they can do. They both know the procedure, some of which was part of their respective training, so they shed their wet and soiled clothes before entering Decon. After having used Torchwood Three's communal showers for years neither of them is particularly bothered by their own nudity.

Naked as on the day they were born, they walk into a small chamber with six round platforms in the floor. They stand on one of the platforms each and wait.

"You are about to undergo long-wave radiation," the impersonal voice of the computer instructs them. "A buzzer will sound. Close your eyes and stand still or blindness may result."

"How reassuring," Ianto mutters but does as he's told.

"Yeah, I hate this part, too," Sandra agrees. "Even when they only simulate the treatment."

But she closes her eyes, too. There's a buzzing sound, followed by a short moment of intense heat, but that's basically it.

Still naked like a newborn puppy, they go over to a very similar room – with the only difference that next to each platform there's a ridiculous-looking helmet on a low podest, encased in translucent plastic.

"This is a xenon lamp apparatus," the computer tells them. "To insure complete effectiveness, spread your feet apart. To protect scalp and facial hair, place the metal helmet securely on the head. Make sure the helmet is firmly seated and the visor lowered. Then raise your arms and wait."

They fumble with the helmets a bit – this procedure was _not_ part of their training – but finally manage to get it right. The mental image of himself, bare-arsed naked but wearing a medieval-looking helmet, makes Ianto giggle hysterically.

"Jack would have loved this," he says.

"No doubt," Sandra agrees. "Any excuse to get naked would be a legitimate one for Captain Harkness."

"Well, to his credit, he did look bloody good naked," Ianto points out.

"I'll take your word on that," Sandra replies, and they both laugh.

Then they take on the required position – arms raised, feet slightly spread apart – and even through their eyelids they notice that the room is filled with harsh light for a moment. There's white-hot pain, as if their entire body would be on fire. It lasts only a second or two, though, almost too short to take conscious notice of it, than the room goes dark again. Well… back to normal illumination anyway.

"You may now remove the helmet," the computer tells them.

When they do so, they find their bodies covered in a fine, white layer of some kind of powder – and any body hair they might have had is gone. The difference is particularly visible on Ianto who's been on the fuzzy side since entering puberty.

"You will notice a fine white ash on your body," the computer continues. "This is the outer epithelial layers of your skin that have been burned away. Please replace the helmet in compartment and proceed through shower in next room. Then you may dress and return to main Sickbay area."

"I thought burning people alive has been outlawed after the fall of the Inquisition," Ianto mutters angrily as they stand under the shower. The loss of body hair may seem to be a small matter, but he feels… well, not quite himself naked like a snail.

Besides, Jack – being naturally hairless – _liked_ his furry chest. It's like losing another piece of his past, even though, rationally, he knows that his body hair will regrow eventually. Or so he hopes.

Sandra laughs. "The apparatus is practically medieval by now. It's originally been developed in the mid-twentieth century to contain and eliminate alien germs that might have been brought to Earth by returning satellites. Believe me, it was a real pain in the ass to integrate it with the rest of Sickbay equipment."

"And nobody thought of replacing it for two hundred years?" Ianto asks incredulously.

Sandra shrugs. "Why should they? It may be crude by 22nd-century standards, but it's still efficient."

"It's _barbaric_!" Ianto grouses and Sandra laughs again.

"Oh, don't be such a girl! It's not easy to disinfect the human body, one of the dirtiest things in the known universe, without killing the human being at the same time. Now, if you're finished with scrubbing the ash from your private parts, let's see how the captain is doing."

"Not right away, you can't," one of the med techs whose name Ianto can't remember at the moment, says via intercom. "You're required to rest for six hours after exposure to the xenon lamp. Go to the observation room and sleep. Doctor's orders."

* * *

Neither of them is happy with the idea but rules are rules, so they do as they're told. When they wake up four hours later, they find Archer, finally conscious again, on a biobed in the room for ambulant treatment. Dr Phlox is working on the captain's injured thigh – or rather, he's watching a saucer-sized, leech-like alien creature doing… _something_ with the now-healing wound.

Tucker and T'Pol are also present, watching the process with vague disgust (Tucker) and scientific indifference (T'Pol), respectively. The doctor seems supremely content with the results.

"Very nice, very nice," he beams at Archer, seeing that he's awake. "Your myofibers are fusing beautifully."

Archer leans up on his elbows and looks down towards his wounded leg sceptically. Ianto can't blame him. Phlox's methods are unorthodox at the best of times; disturbing at other times.

"How long have I been...?" the captain asks hoarsely.

"Less than six hours," Phlox carefully removes the creature and places it into a jar of liquid. "I thought it best to keep you sedated while the osmotic eel cauterized your wound."

Archer stares at the creature swimming in the liquid.

"Thanks," he mutters, clearly glad _not_ having been awake during the process and Ianto whole-heartedly agrees. He didn't expect the sickbay of Starfleet's newest, most advanced starship to be something between dubious 1950s sci-fi movies and Dr Moreau's lab, either.

"How are you doing, Captain?" Tucker asks, moving closer to the biobed.

Archer gives T'Pol a wary glance. "That depends. What's been going on for the last six hours? I vaguely remember you declaring that you'll assume command; right before I passed out."

"That was my intention, yes," T'Pol replies calmly. "As your highest ranking officer, I should have been in charge while you were incapacitated."

"But…?" Archer asks because there is definitely a _but_ coming.

"Commander Tucker disagreed with me," T'Pol tells him matter-of-factly. "We had an… argument and he threatened to have me put into a containment cell."

"And you gave in, just like that?" Archer finds that hard to believe.

"I would be of no use for the ship in a containment cell," T'Pol points out, and it would be hard to argue with that logic. Vulcans may be pompous, condescending bastards, but they take their responsibilities very seriously.

Archer accepts that statement with a nod.

"Are we underway?" he then asks, as he can sense that the ship is moving.

Tucker nods. "We're currently tracking the Suliban vessel that left Rigel shortly after you were injured."

"You actually got their plasma decay rate?" Sandra, who's getting her bruised ribs treated on the neighbouring biobed, now that he's gone through decontamination, asks sceptically. "I thought our _primitive_ sensors can't do that," she then adds, shooting a dirty look in the Vulcan's direction.

"With Mister Tucker's assistance, I modified the sensors," T'Pol remains as unperturbed as ever. "You now have the resolution to detect their warp trail."

Archer is clearly bolstered by this and tries to sit up, wincing a little. "What happened to _this is a foolish mission_?" he teases.

"It _is_ a foolish mission," T'Pol returns coldly. "The Suliban are clearly a hostile race with technology far superior to yours. But, as Commander Tucker rather… _forcefully_ reminded me, this is _your_ ship and _your_ mission, and we are obligated to anticipate your wishes."

"You didn't have to actively support us in this, though," Archer says, playing devil's advocate.

"On the contrary, Captain," the Vulcan replies. "As the science officer, it is my duty and my responsibility to do my best to enable ship and crew to fulfil their mission – even if I personally disagree with that mission."

"Which you do," it isn't a question from Archer's side but T'Pol nods in agreement nonetheless.

"Which I do. Now, if you will excuse me, Captain, I have a great deal of sensor data to analyse. I am certain that Lieutenant Reed will gladly have me shot, should I try to do anything untoward, so you need not to worry about me being on the Bridge," she adds dryly.

Archer stares at her sceptically for a moment, but then dismisses her without further questions.

"Modifying the sensors was her idea, sir," Tucker comments after she's left. Archer shakes his head doubtfully but drops the topic.

"Am I fit to resume command?" he asks Phlox instead.

"As long as you stay off that leg and return for more eel therapy tomorrow," the Denobulan replies cheerfully.

Archer glares with unveiled disgust at the… _thing_ swimming in the jar, but after a moment he consents.

"Trip, go back to Engineering," he says. "You may have to keep an eye on the engines. Mr Daniels, if you'd assist me in returning to the Bridge…"

"Gladly, Captain," Ianto, well-rested after the xenon lamp procedure, is more than fit to help a man, even one as big and heavy as Archer, onto his feet and into the turbolift.

Once in the lift cabin, Archer looks at him pleadingly. "I think the situation justifies some caffeine intake, doesn't it?"

Ianto smiles. "As soon as you're safely in your chair, sir."

* * *

Half an hour later – after a quick shower and a double serving of Ianto's industrial strength coffee – Archer finally can return to the Bridge indeed… with some support from his quartermaster… barista… babysitter… whatever- Ianto, still not quite used to travelling in space aboard a real, honest, down-to-Earth starship, is all too happy to accommodate him. He's always grateful for an opportunity to visit the Bridge.

This is a very different experience from travelling in the TARDIS – or even aboard the time ship _Relativity_. Closer to home. Something completely _human_ , even though Zefram Cochrane had a hand in its invention. But again, some people still stubbornly believe that the Alpha Centauri worlds were settled by ancient humans, taken there by the Providers or any other powerful beings, so the difference is irrelevant.

They find Lieutenant Reed in command, being the highest ranking officer on duty – if one doesn't count T'Pol who's sitting at the science station, immersed in the analysis of the data – while Hoshi is sitting in Reed's place at Tactical, watching the monitor that shows a complex tracking pattern; one can hear the _pinging_ sounds of the various sensors. When they enter, Reed hurriedly vacates the captain's chair for its rightful owner and joins Hoshi at Tactical. Hoshi steps down, letting him take over and stars at her hand in concern,

"What are the symptoms of frostbite?" she asks.

"Your appendages blister, peel, turn gangrenous..." Reed deadpans.

Hoshi keeps staring at her hand. "I think I have frostbite."

"Let me see," Reed says and she holds out her hand. The armoury officer pretends to examine her fingertips. "Hmmm. Looks serious. Doctor Phlox may have to amputate."

Both Archer and Mayweather bit the inside of their cheeks to stifle their laughter. Ianto, on the other hand, fights the urge to hit Reed. Sometimes the lieutenant can be every bit the prick Owen used to be. Especially with Hoshi, who realises she's been had and gives him a dirty look.

"I never had to worry about frostbite in Brazil," she mutters glumly.

Reed opens his mouth to make a comment and Ianto seriously considers hitting him if it turns out something mean-spirited. Fortunately (for the armoury officer), the change in the _pinging_ noise saves them both from the necessity.

"Captain, they're getting too far ahead of us," Mayweather reports.

"Match their speed," Archer orders, not willing to lose the track.

"I'm not authorized to go beyond four-four," Mayweather reminds him.

That can be helped," Archer taps the comm button on the arm of his chair. "Archer to Engineering."

"Engineering here," Tucker's voice answers.

"Trip, would you please give our intrepid helmsman permission to go to warp four point five," Archer asks.

They can all hear the smile in Tucker's voice. "It's okay, Travis. I'll keep an eye on the engines."

"Acknowledged," Mayweather grins in delight; he just _loves_ to push the new, advanced engines a bit. He slowly pushes the lever upward, increasing their speed. "Warp four point five, Captain, and steady.

The _pinging_ returns to normal and Archer nods contentedly.

"Very well. Lieutenant Reed, you have the Bridge. I'll be in my ready room, resting my dratted leg, but call me immediately, should anything happen. Mr Daniels, if you don't mind accompanying me, I'd like to discuss something with you."

Ianto is mildly shocked by this unexpected turn of events but his mask remains firmly in place.

"Yes, sir," he replies simply and helps Archer to reach his private refuge with as much dignity as one can muster while hobbling around on one leg.

* * *

"Sit," Archer orders as the door slides shut behind them. "I need to pick your brain."

"Mine, sir?" Ianto asks in surprise, while helping the captain to put his injured leg up on another chair. "I'm not a scientist… or a tactical officer."

"True," Archer allows. "But I've got the nagging feeling that you know more about this whole mess than either of us; _including_ T'Pol."

"In that you're right, Captain," Ianto replies honestly. He doesn't want to lie to Archer as long as it can be avoided. Which doesn't mean that he can tell him everything, of course.

Archer nods. "Thought so. I won't ask you _how_ that's possible; not yet anyway. When this crisis is over, we're gonna have a nice, long chat, you and I. Right now, I want to know everything you can tell me about Klaang. I have no reason to believe he's still alive... but if that butterfly woman was telling the truth, it's crucial that we try to find him. Do _you_ know where he is?"

"No, sir," Ianto replies truthfully; due to the changes in the timeline, not even the Temporal Agency had all the necessary details. "What, exactly, did the Arcateenian tell you?"

Archer recites his cryptic conversation with Sarin as well as he can remember.

"Do you know anything about this time war?" he then asks. "Did Torchwood know anything about it?"

"Not to my knowledge," Ianto replies carefully. "I know there was a time war, a devastating battle fought between the people of Gallifrey and a robotic race called the Daleks, but that was a long time ago and had nothing to do with Earth."

"Who won?" Archer tries for a joke… and fails.

"Theoretically, the Gallifreyans," Ianto shrugs. "It was a pyrrhic victory, though, as both races were wiped out in the war… or so it seemed."

"But it wasn't so, was it?" Archer presses on and Ianto shrugs again.

"That's the thing with time wars, sir; they're never really over. Personally, I doubt that it would have to do with our current problem, though. We at Torchwood had extensive files on both Daleks and Gallifreyans. Neither of them had anything in common with the Suliban."

Archer eyes him doubtfully. "You seem awfully certain in your knowledge, Mr Daniels."

"I should be," Ianto replies dryly. "I faced them both."

"But you've just said that both races were wiped out…"

"They were. But as I've also told you, sir, time wars are never really over. There are always loopholes… and escapees."

"And you've met those escapees?" Archer is finally catching the drift.

Ianto nods. "Have your family legends ever told you anything about the Battle of Canary Wharf?"

"Only in vague outlines…" Archer's eyes are widening in shock and realization. "You're one of the survivors!"

"Correct, sir. So believe me when I say that the Suliban are a completely different deck of cards in the ongoing game."

"I never knew that the survivors went to work for Torchwood Three," Archer mutters and Ianto shakes his head.

"They didn't. I was the only one. And it wasn't a known fact, so you shouldn't blame yourself for not knowing. Jack _really_ hated Torchwood London. He and Director Hartman rubbed each other the wrong way."

"You must tell me more about Torchwood once we'll have the time for it," Archer says. "Right now, though… do you think that the Suliban could be working for one of those factions?"

Ianto thinks about the possibility that, frankly, has never occurred to him. Not even the Temporal Agency had a clue who is behind the Suliban attacks, which is why they've sent him to the 22nd century in the first place."

"I think we can leave the Gallifreyans out of consideration," he finally says, careful not to use the term _Time Lords_ until he can be sure how much Archer may know about them… _if_ he does know anything at all. "As far as I know, there was only one left of them by the 21st century, and that one was friendly towards mankind… in a rather condescending way. The Daleks… they are known to have used other species as canon fodder but never as intelligent and sophisticated ones as the Suliban. Ones that could turn on them. Their declared goal was to exterminate all non-Dalek life forms."

"Sounds like a bad sci-fi cliché from the 1950s," Archer comments. "The crazy, homicidal robots on their way to world domination."

"They were exactly that, in fact," Ianto replies. "Except that they weren't really robots. They were organic beings, enclosed in robotic bodies. As for mad and homicidal… you'd be all that, too, did you have to live out your life trapped in an oversized pepper pot, without the slightest chance to have contact with the outside world."

"That wouldn't make them less of a threat, though," Archer says thoughtfully.

"No, sir," Ianto agrees. "Nor do I feel particularly sympathetic towards them. They chose a way to survive that would cost the lives of every other living being – they don't deserve compassion."

"You still don't think they'd be behind the Suliban, though?"

"It isn't impossible, of course," Ianto allows. "But I don't think it would be likely. I suspect a much more creative mind behind all this; one that thrives on dead and destruction. And, yes, world domination would be very much part of the game."

"Do you happen to know of such a creative mind?" Archer asks.

"I used to," Ianto corrects. "But that particular megalomaniac was killed and incinerated in the early 21st century."

"Are you absolutely sure about that?" Archer presses on, eager to find some explanation, _any_ explanation, in fact, for the mess they've found themselves in.

"I didn't see it with my own eyes, if that's what you mean, sir, but I happen to know that Jack did. He had a… let's say _personal interest_ in making sure that it indeed happened," Ianto answers and the captain deflates.

"So we still don't know anything that would help us."

"Afraid not, sir. Our best chance is tracking down the Suliban vessel and see where it leads us."

Archer nods unhappily. Then he frowns. "Did you feel that?"

"Feel _what_ , sir?"

"We've just dropped out of warp," Archer glances at the window. Ianto follows suit. Indeed, the elongated streaks seen during warp transit are gone. All they can see are the shiny, unmoving points of distant stars in the dark, velvety folds of deep space.

Archer pushes the comm button. "Archer to T'Pol. Report."

There's a moment of silence, then the Vulcan's voice replies, "If you're feeling well enough to come to the Bridge, Captain, now would be a good time."

"Sounds promising," Archer allows Ianto to help him taking his injured leg off the other chair and pushes himself into a standing position. "Let's see what it is."

* * *

The walk from the ready room to the Bridge proper is a short one but painful (for Archer) nonetheless. Lieutenant Reed vacates the captain's chair hurriedly as the door opens and goes over to Tactical. Everyone else is staring at the main viewscreen, which shows a distant orange planet. As Archer hobbles to the command chair, T'Pol rises from the science station where she's been working and joins him.

"Well?" Archer asks impatiently. "What is it?"

"It is a gas giant," the Vulcan states the obvious and Archer rolls his eyes.

"I can see _that_. From the looks of it, a Class Six or Seven."

"Class Seven," Ianto corrects automatically, which earns him surprised looks. "What?" he asks crossly. "Just because I keep you all fed and clothed, it doesn't mean I'm an idiot!"

"Calm down, Mr Daniels," Archer says with an unmistakable tone of command in his voice and Ianto knows better than to disobey. The captain then turns to T'Pol. "So, why are we looking at this particular gas giant, Subcommander?"

"The Suliban vessel dropped to impulse a few hours ago and altered course," T'Pol replies with Vulcan precision. "Their new heading took them through its outer radiation belt."

Archer needs a moment to realise what this means. "We've lost them?"

T'Pol reluctantly nods. Archer's features tighten in anger but he keeps it under control – for now. "Move us in closer," he orders Mayweather.

As the helmsman adjusts their course, they all watch the orange planet growing steadily larger on the viewscreen.

"Anything?" Archer asks after a moment.

Reed, who's working frantically at his console, shakes his head.

"The radiation's dissipated their warp trail," he reports unhappily. "I'm only picking up fragments."

Some of Archer's tightly controlled anger bubbles onto the surface as he turns to T'Pol. "You finished helping us?"

T'Pol gives him a cold glare but then she, too, turns to Reed. "Switch to tactical view, Lieutenant!"

Reed hits a control and the image on the viewscreen changes. It shows the graphic view of the gas giant now, above which a fragmented ion trail can be seen.

"It's like a contrail that's been broken up by winds," Ianto comments softly, earning identical blank looks from the others. The only one who would understand what he means – Sandra – is currently not on the Bridge.

Neither do the others appear to understand T'Pol's intention.

"What now?" Reed asks.

"Run a spectral analysis of the fragments," T'Pol orders.

Reed hits a series of controls. On the graphic, a sequence of numbers appears by each fragment; the sequences are all different. Reed stars at the graphic, discouraged.

"There's too much distortion," he complains. "The decay rates don't even match."

"Which can only mean one thing…" Archer trails off as realization is dawning. He and T'Pol exchange a look of understanding. Despite their mistrust of each other, they're clearly both thinking alike for the first time since her arrival.

"Calculate the trajectory of each fragment," T'Pol orders Reed, who looks at the captain, a bit confused.

Archer pushes himself to his feet with some effort. "You heard her."

Reed clearly doesn't have a clue what they're looking for, but he starts the calculations anyway. T'Pol returns to the science station to double-check the results, and Archer turns to the aft station.

"Crewman Calderon, recalibrate the sensor array – narrow-band, short-to-mid-range."

Sophie Calderon, one of the junior scientists (and a lovely black woman at that), nods crisply. "Aye, sir."

"Measure the particle density of the thermosphere," T'Pol orders Sandro diPinto, another science section crewman, who's working next to Calderon.

The two scientists set to work, and soon the viewscreen graphic changes, displaying telemetry for each of the fragments. Archer makes a sound that's part surprise, part satisfaction.

"Those _fragments_ weren't from _one_ Suliban ship...," he comments.

"They were from fourteen," T'Pol replies. "And all within the last six hours. I believe we've found what we're looking for."

Ianto feels his stomach tighten with fear and excitement. He is the only one on board who can at least make an educated guess what they are about to find. There were all sorts of unconfirmed data about Suliban helices on Futurama, but no temporal agent has ever actually _seen_ one until now. It is exciting, yes, but he knows that it could be dangerous – lethal even. It _is_ the likely place to find Klaang, but it can also be a trap of which they won't be able to walk away unharmed.

Archer seems to have similar thoughts because he hesitates for a long moment before making his decision – a difficult one.

"How are your targeting scanners?" he asks Reed.

"Aligned and ready, sir," the armoury officer replies proudly. There are many long hours of hard work behind that statement.

Archer nods. "Bring the weapons on-line... and polarize the hull plating," he orders.

While Reed is carrying out the captain's orders, the others exchange startled looks. Hoshi isn't the only one who becomes deathly pale. No-one expected an armed conflict during this journey, and there are justified doubts that the new, untested weapons would keep up the promises of their designers. But Archer has made up his mind and he won't change it now, when they have come so close to their target.

"Lay in a sixty degree vector," he says to Mayweather. "We're going in."

~TBC~


	10. Chapter 10: Hide & Seek

**A Matter of Time**

 **by Soledad**

For disclaimer, rating, etc., see the Introduction.

Some lines of the dialogue have been taken from the first draft of the pilot episode. And yeah, I've accidentally promoted Crewman Fuller to Lieutenant. I think I'll allow him to keep that promotion. ;)

* * *

 **Chapter 10 – Hide & Seek**

"We're going in!" Captain Archer has announced, and as _Enterprise_ begins to move slowly through the orange gas – the upper atmosphere of the red giant star – the whole bridge crew, plus one quartermaster who does his best to remain unnoticed so he could watch the spectacle, are holding their collective breath. The viewscreen shows the dense gaseous layer rushing past; the ship's running lights can barely cut through it.

Everyone is tense, but Ianto can barely hide his excitement. Nothing he saw at Torchwood, or on Futurama for that matter, could have prepared him for _this_ : entering a red giant star. Astronomy used to be a private hobby of his before Torchwood, so he knows the extreme heat, the incredible mass and the luminosity of such starts that exceed Earth's tame little sun by magnitudes.

And they are entering _that_ in the equivalent of a tin box! As much as he was awed by the TARDIS, he finds _this_ much more impressive.

"Sensor resolution's falling off at about twelve kilometres," Hoshi reports.

It is a sobering announcement. Without functional sensors they are blind and deaf in this dangerous environment; everyone understands that much. Even Archer seems concerned.

"Travis?" This is the first time Ianto has heard him to call the young helmsman by his given name.

Mayweather is working at the helm with intense concentration. "I'm okay, Captain," he replies.

The addition _so far_ hangs in the air unspoken.

"Our situation should improve," T'Pol says, busy at her console. "We're about to break through the cyclohexane layer."

Ianto isn't sure that breaking through a thick layer of colourless, flammable liquid that can boil and freeze simultaneously is necessarily a safe thing; he's clearly not the only one. All eyes are on the viewscreen as the orange layer of gas gives way to an even denser layer of roiling blue liquid. The ship instantly begins to tremble violently and everyone tries to get hold on something.

"I wouldn't exactly call this an improvement," Archer comments sarcastically.

He's the only one who's not green around the gills – well, he and T'Pol, of course. The Vulcan is not only calm; she appears positively fascinated as she activates a small viewer at her station and peers into its eyepiece.

"Liquid phosphorous!" she murmurs, as close to excitement as a Vulcan is capable of. "I would not have expected _that_ beneath a layer of cyclohexane."

Sadly, no-one seems to share her fascination; especially as the ship continues to buffet. Everyone is preoccupied with trying to stay on their feet – or in their seats. Hoshi is doing her best to cover her white-knuckle anxiety.

"You might think about recommending seat belts when we get home," she says to Archer in a poor attempt of a joke.

The captain, naturally immune to motion sickness, gives her an unrepentant grin.

"It's just a little bad weather," he says airily and Ianto has to remind himself that hitting a superior officer can have a detrimental effect on one's career.

After a few more seconds of intense shaking _Enterprise_ finally descends into a clear layer. There's a collective sigh of relief; they look up to the viewscreen, to watch the roiling gasses above. No-one pays the insistent beeping sound any attention; well, _almost_ no-one.

"We've got sensors!" Hoshi cries triumphantly.

"Level off," Archer orders Mayweather. Then he turns to Crewman Calderon. "Go to long-range scans."

Calderon switches to long-range sensors without acknowledging the order. It is irregular, but time is an issue right now.

"Captain, I'm detecting two vessels... bearing one-one-nine mark seven," she reports.

"Now we're getting somewhere," Archer turns to Hoshi. "Put it up."

Hoshi throws a switch and the viewscreen changes to show two ships – presumably Suliban – moving away in the distance. This is the first time they're close enough for visuals, and they're all impressed by the unique design.

They're quite small," Lieutenant Hess, representing Tucker at the engineering console, comments in surprise. "About twice the size of one of our shuttlepods. And _those_ are capable of faster-than-light flight?"

"They've got both, impulse and warp engines," Reed confirms, checking his readings at Tactical.

Archer is one step ahead of them already. "What kind of weapons?"

But Reed shakes his head apologetically. "I'm sorry, Captain. We're too far away."

"Sir," Mayweather, who's been watching the navigational sensors like a hawk, interrupts. "I'm picking up something at three-forty-two mark twelve... it's a lot bigger."

Hoshi switches the viewscreen to the navigational sensors, which now show a large, intricate structure ahead. Ianto is the only one who knows that it must be a Suliban Helix; but he decides this isn't the time to enlighten the others. He'll tell Archer later what little he knows about it. In private.

The captain, meanwhile, stares at the viewscreen wide-eyed.

"All sensors!" he says quickly, to T'Pol "Get whatever you can!"

The Vulcan works, rapidly gathering data on the Helix, but Archer is still not satisfied.

"Go tighter," he orders Hoshi, who taps a control, and they get a closer view of the Helix. It's comprised of hundreds of smaller, modular ships – again, presumably Suliban – which are interlocked to form a massive, spiral-shaped space station. A few individual cell ships are seen engaging and disengaging from the Helix.

It is like a beehive, really, with worker bees swarming in and out the keep the hive alive and functional. And deep within, though Ianto is the only one who knows that, there is a temporal chamber, through which the mysterious supporter of the Cabal keeps contact with their Suliban soldiers. The very person whose identity he's been sent here to reveal.

"Bio-signs?" Archer asks.

"Over three thousand, but I can't isolate a Klingon… _if_ there is one," Hoshi admits unhappily.

Before Archer could answer, the ship suddenly jolts.

"That was a particle weapon, sir," Reed warns.

As if to confirm his statement, they are hit again – hard!

* * *

Down in Main Engineering, Hell has broken loose. The decks are trembling. A couple of conduits are broken and spewing has. Tucker has his hands wrapped around a pressure valve that's hissing ominously.

"Bridge, we're taking damage down here!" he yells in the vague direction of the closest comm unit. "What's going on?"

"Just a little trouble with the bad guys," Archer's voice replies.

Tucker mutters something unfit to be repeated in polite company.

"Alex, come over here and help me fix this fucking valve before it blows up into our faces!" he then yells.

But it is Sandra Massaro who shows up with the welder, her face obscured by a protective mask.

"Gaeta is injured," she says calmly. "Third degree burns from the escaping gas. Don't worry, Chief; I'll have this fixed in no time." Tucker knows she will. She's as good as her word.

"You gotta have nerves of pure duranium," he mutters. "Does anything ever make you lose your cool?"

"Not much," Sandra confesses. "Remembering what it's like to die – twice! – can do that to a girl."

"With nerves like yours – not to mention your knowledge about weapons – I'm surprised that Mr Stick-in-the-ass hasn't tried to lure you over to Security yet," Tucker says.

She shakes her head. "Boring. Every idiot can be taught to fire a weapon – even hit his target. Figuring out what makes it tick, though, especially if it's alien – now, _that_ is a challenge!"

"And you did that… how often?" Tucker asks doubtfully. Dealing with alien weapons isn't exactly a task for Starfleet's Engineering Corps.

"I used to do it for a living," Sandra welds the valve shut and pushes the protective mask up to the top of her head. "Well, not _me_ -me, of course; it was my donor. But since I have her memories, I can remember that it has been fun."

Tucker shakes his head. "I know, in theory, that you've got two different people in your head. I just have a hard time to imagine it."

"Something you should be eternally grateful for," Sandra switches off the welder and removes the mask. "Having the knowledge does come in handy at times, but the rest of it…"

She trails off and Tucker nods in understanding. As he is Archer's executive officer (not to mention his best friend), he's one of the selected few who know who – and _what_ – Sandra exactly is. When he was first briefed, he freaked out a bit, but in the meantime he has come to value her for her competence and straightforward honesty. So he drops the topic.

"Nice work," he says instead, examining the fixed valve. "Do you think Captain's finished shaking us up like a bottle of coughing syrup?"

Right on clue, _Enterprise_ takes a direct hit again, and they have to run and deal with the new damage.

* * *

On the Bridge, too, sparks are flying off various damaged consoles. Lieutenant Hess and two maintenance crewmen are doing their best to keep the situation under controls but it's not an easy task. Anna Hess, her face streaked with grime, looks at Archer in concern.

"Captain, we can't take much more of this. _Enterprise_ is not a warship; the hull plating will fail sooner or later."

At this very moment they take another hit. T'Pol's console starts smoking and her monitor goes blank.

"I suggest we return to the phosphorous layer," she rises calmly and crosses the Bridge to continue her work at an empty console near Hoshi.

Archer hesitates for a moment. He obviously _hates_ to turn back now, so close to their goal, but the gives in.

"Take us up," he orders Mayweather reluctantly.

Mayweather works so fast that his hands appear to dance over the buttons and switches of his console. _Enterprise_ rapidly ascends into the roiling liquid-blue layer above, vanishing from the view of her pursuers.

"Approaching Suliban cell ship has broken off its pursuit, and is heading back to base," Reed reports.

Archer nods in relief; then he's crossing to T'Pol. "What've you got?"

T'Pol calls up an image of the Suliban Helix from directly above. Then she taps the controls, and the image shifts, so that they can see it from the side.

"It appears to be an aggregate structure, comprised of hundreds of vessels," she explains. "They are held in place by an interlocking system of magnetic seals."

Which means – in theory – that if they manage to de-magnetize the structure, the whole thing would simply fall to pieces, Ianto realizes. Of course, the question remains _how_ they could do that, and he briefly regrets not having been able to nick the Doctor's sonic screwdriver. Who knows, the thing might prove useful!

"There, right there!" Hoshi, who's been busy working as well, cries out triumphantly and points at the monitor, where a column of bio-data appears next to a small section of the Helix. "These bio-readings are _not_ Suliban."

T'Pol eyes the data critically. "We cannot be certain they are Klingon."

Hoshi shoots her an irritated look. "Well, they certainly aren't human. _Or_ Vulcan."

"Even if it _is_ Klaang, we'd have a tough time getting him off of there," Archer interrupts before the argument can escalate. "Especially now that the Suliban have been warned."

"We could always try the transporting device..." Reed suggests half-heartedly, but Archer shakes his head.

"No. We've risked too much to bring him back inside-out," he thinks for a moment furiously; then he turns to Reed with the expression of a man who has a plan. "Would the grappler work in a liquid atmosphere?"

"Yes," Lieutenant Hess replies before Reed could open his mouth. "In a liquid atmosphere, in a gaseous atmosphere, in no atmosphere at all… the only thing that can stop it is solid rock."

Which is an exaggeration, of course, but Anna Hess is a damn good engineer, seconded by Tucker only. If she says the grappler would work, it _would_ work; so Archer decides to go through with his plan, crazy enough it may appear… even to himself.

"Bring it online," he orders Reed, heading to his chair determinedly. "One more time, Mister Mayweather."

Mayweather carefully steers the great ship through the liquid surface, just beneath which three Suliban cell ships are patrolling. Hoshi has put the feed of _all_ external cameras on the split screen, so that they can see _Enterprise_ itself, too, and Ianto watches with interest as two hatches open on the hull and a pair of launch turrets emerge, swivelling towards their target.

"Firing forward torpedo launchers one and two," Reed says crisply and pushes the buttons. The launchers fire rapid blasts of energy that resemble… well, luminous artillery shells, Ianto finds.

Unfortunately, without name-worthy results.

"All three targets missed," Lieutenant Fuller, watching the tactical monitor, reports unhappily. "They're returning fire."

Ianto braces himself for impact. The Bridge jolts as _Enterprise_ is hit by the Suliban weapons. For such small vessels, the cell ships pack quite a punch.

"Ventral plating's down!" Lieutenant Fuller adds calmly.

"Mister Reed," Archer says with deceiving mildness. " _Now_ would be a good time to return fire."

Reed works furiously, his frustration apparent. "I'm having trouble getting a weapons lock, sir. These scanners weren't designed for a liquid atmosphere."

They're hit again, with a force that rattles everyone's teeth.

"Evidently, _theirs_ were," Ianto comments wryly, just as a hard shake causes a console to spark near Hoshi. She leaps back, startled.

Archer ignores the scene, his eyes fixed on the screen.

"Hold your position," he orders Mayweather; then he glances at Tactical for a second. "Give me a countdown."

"The lead ship's closing," Reed reports. "Seven thousand metres... six thousand..."

They're hit again, harder than before, and even T'Pol looks up from her readings.

"We should ascend," she suggests, but Archer ignores her, too.

""Hold your position," he orders Mayweather, while Reed continues with the countdown.

"One thousand metres..."

The next jolt is even harder. Some of the Bridge personnel are getting deathly pale, fighting the urge to become sick.

"Forward plating's off-line," Fuller reports.

" _Now_ , Mister Reed!" Archer orders.

The external cameras are showing a close-up view of the cell ship as it is closing on _Enterprise_ , ready to deal the death blow. Suddenly, though, a docking arm appears, lowering from the Launch Bay on the bottom of the ship. Two grappling devices shoot out of ports on the arm, trailing thin cables. The cell ship is hit by the two grapplers, which magnetically latch onto its hull.

"Pilot's ejecting," Lieutenant Fuller says, somewhat unnecessarily, as they can all see the cockpit hatch spring open in a blast of vapour!

Archer watches the pilot tumble through the clear atmospheric layer below. "They can survive in vacuum?"

"According to Doctor Phlox they can… for a short while," T'Pol replies. "He obviously counts on the other ships picking him up.

Archer nods. "That can buy us some time. Enough to return to the phosphorous layer… if we're very lucky. Bring her up higher, Travis!"

"Aye, sir," Mayweather swiftly makes _Enterprise_ ascend into the roiling layer above, the cell ship hanging in the grip of the grappler cables like a small fly in a spider's web.

There is more trembling as _Enterprise_ re-enters the turbulent layer. Reed's eyes are practically glued to his readings… then he bursts into a slightly cocky grin.

"Oh, hello, beautiful…" he turns to Archer. "Ship's in the Launch Bay, Captain."

Archer nods. "Good work," he then pushes the comm button on the arm of his chair. "Archer to Engineering."

"Engineering here," Tucker's voice replies.

"Meet me in Launch Bay, Trip," Archer orders. "Bring Ensign Massaro," he looks around. "Hoshi, Daniels, Travis, you're with me. Mister Reed, you have the conn."

* * *

If anyone is baffled by Archer's choice to take his quartermaster with him to examine the Suliban ship, they know better than to make any comment.

Not before the turbolift doors close behind him, that is.

"Interesting choice," Ensign Hutchinson, Mayweather relief is the first to voice his surprise, and there are involuntary nods of agreement all over the bridge, one coming – to general surprise – from T'Pol.

Lieutenant Reed, on the other hand, seems supremely pleased in the command chair, even though he is sitting so carefully in it he barely touches its edge.

"Not really," he says. "Daniel comes directly from UNIT; I imagine he had access to more confidential information than most of us."

He doesn't say _all of us_ – a fact that no-one but T'Pol notices. Of course, no-one present but T'Pol knows that he used to be with Starfleet Intelligence. In theory, only the captain and his executive officer are supposed to know, but it's bloody hard to keep anything confidential from a Vulcan. Especially from one who used to be a spook herself – another thing that only the captain and his executive officer are supposed to know.

 _And_ Starfleet's own spooks, of course.

Ensign Hutchinson – generally called Hutch, as he shares a first name with his cousin, Ensign Scott Cole – doesn't appear t be satisfied with Reed's answer.

"If he was such a big deal with UNIT how come that he's just a quartermaster here, ordering spare parts and making coffee to suck up to the captain?" he asks belligerently.

Reed suppresses a sigh. He won't admit that he doesn't have the faintest idea who Chief Petty Officer Daniels _really_ might be; but he knows enough to leave him alone. Sato, Massaro and Daniels have _one_ thing in common: they were all involved with UNIT somehow, and Reed happens to know that Captain Archer has searched some _very_ specific UNIT files long and hard when it came to choose his crew.

The files that were connected to his own 19th-century ancestor and the organization that man is inseparable from: Torchwood.

It is a name Reed has known since his early childhood, too. It was always part of the family legendarium. The Reeds have never had any dealings with Torchwood, but they were always closely associated with UNIT, ever since his great-grandfather, Gordon Reed had begun his service under Commodore Sullivan. So yeah, Malcolm Reed knows, at the very least, _what_ Torchwood used to be and what was its purpose.

He also knows he wasn't picked for his current joy simply because he is good at what he does. He is; but there are dozens of other security and/or intelligence officers who are at least as good as he is. He got picked because Captain Archer wanted people with personal ties to Torchwood on his ship, and one of his female ancestors had a cousin who used to work for Torchwood Cardiff and died heroically in the line of duty.

He is here because of one Doctor Owen Harper and for no other reason.

Just as Massaro is here because she's been cloned from the DNA of a notorious Torchwood Cardiff agent (another thing Reed is _not_ supposed to know), and Ensign Sato has been pardoned, so that she could serve with Jack Archer, because she's related to Torchwood Cardiff's resident computer genius, who also died heroically in the line of duty. Which, frankly, seems to be a constant for Torchwood Cardiff employees.

That still doesn't explain Daniels, though, about whom Reed has absolutely no knowledge… a fact that he needs to change, he realizes, as soon as he can get in touch with his usual sources again. He would have done so already, had Daniels not appeared so unexpectedly on board, replacing the originally selected quartermaster, by an order that came from Starfleet's highest echelons…

The silence around him makes Reed realize that he hasn't answered Hutchinson's question. Time to obfuscate, he decides. They don't need to know that _he_ doesn't know, either. That would be bad for morale.

"I never said he was a big deal with UNIT," he says evasively. "I only said that he's got _connections._ Connections that enable him to get us those spare parts a lot faster than anybody else."

"Which is a good thing," Lieutenant Fuller adds. "Or else we'd have had to start without our torpedo launchers fully functional – and wouldn't be having this discussion right now."

"And as for the coffee, he makes it for the Chief, too," Lieutenant Anna Hess comments, grinning. " _And_ for me. You're just jealous because you have to drink that swill the dispenser produces in the Mess Hall."

The others laugh – the quality of coffee is a matter of eternal complains in the Mess Hall – and the topic gets dropped. Malcolm Reed, however, makes a mental note to look into the case of Chief Petty Officer Daniels as soon as he gets the chance to do so.

* * *

Several hours later, having thoroughly scanned and examined the Suliban cell ship, Archer & Co. – sand Tucker, who had to return to Engineering – have relocated to the tactical centre off the Main Bridge, which is filled with various read-outs and a large table graphic. Archer, Sandra and Ianto are huddled around the table, which shows numerous graphics of the cell ship – different angles of the exterior, engine schematics, flight controls, and so on.

The deck is still trembling a little, but everyone has grown used to it by now; the roiling phosphorous layer is not easy to navigate, and Ensign Hutchinson isn't nearly as skilled as Mayweather, although he does try his best. Mayweather, in the meantime, is drilling the captain and his selected co-pilot Sandra Massaro in the – hopefully possible – use of Suliban flight controls.

"All right," he points to the graphic, "what's this?"

Archer smiles with confidence. "The pitch control."

"No, sir," Ianto interferes, pointing to another spot. " _That's_ the pitch control. This is the guidance system."

Mayweather gives him a suspicious look. "And _you_ know that – how exactly? You suddenly a pilot or what?"

"Actually, I don't even _like_ to fly," Ianto replies. "But it says so in the maintenance manual," and he points at the other screen, full of diagrams and labels… all in _Suliban_.

"Are you telling me that you speak Suliban?" Archer asks in surprise.

Ianto shakes his head. "No, sir. I'm not Ensign Sato; I can't learn a language in a few hours," fortunately, he had considerably more time on Futurama to learn the relevant alien languages of the 22nd century, but the others don't need to know _that_. "I have, however, studied Doctor Phlox's data concerning the Suliban. There was a list of technical terms in that database, written both in the original alphabet _and_ in English transcription."

"And you simply marked it?" Mayweather asks doubtfully, which is understandable.

Archer, however, has already accepted Ianto's word for it.

"Mister Daniels has a photographic memory," he tells Mayweather. "So, pitch control... guidance system," he checks the graphic again. "Got it. What's next?"

"The docking interface," Mayweather says. "How do you deploy it?"

"Release the inertial clamps here, here, and here," Archer uses the graphic to simulate the manoeuvre. "And then initialize the coaxial ports."

"Good," Mayweather looks at Sandra. "Where's the auxiliary throttle?"

Sandra hesitates, then points. "Well, it's not _this_ one..."

Mayweather rolls his eyes and looks at Archer pleadingly. "With all due respect, Captain, I'm pretty sure I could fly this thing."

"I don't doubt it," Archer replies, "but I need you here. Besides, I may not have done as much flying lately as you, but I'm still a damn good pilot, Ensign. And so is Ensign Massaro; with the additional bonus that she might fix up whatever goes haywire on the way."

"Yes, sir," Mayweather is clearly unhappy, but there isn't much he can do about it, really.

In the meantime Ianto has mercy with Sandra and points at the graphic. "There... _that_ is the auxiliary throttle."

"The two of you together could make a good pilot," Mayweather comments. "She has the reflexes, you have the know-how."

Sandra gives him a jaundiced look. "That was a backhanded compliment if I ever heard one!"

"Coming from a pilot, we should take them as we get them," Ianto deadpans. "It's a rare enough occasion as it is."

Archer and Mayweather exchange looks of deep understanding.

"Mud-trodders," Archer mutters. "You people have no idea…"

"Whatever he's wanted to say is interrupted by a low-frequency _booom_... which grows louder and then _wham_ – the ship jolts violently.

At her station on the Main Bridge, T'Pol looks up to Archer with concern.

"Captain, that charge contained a proximity sweep," she reports. "If we remain here, they're going to locate us."

Archer nods in understanding and turns to Mayweather. "You're gonna have to speed this up a little, Travis."

Mayweather shakes his head pessimistically. "I don't know if I can, sir."

"Oh, come on," Sandra interrupts impatiently. "How complicated can it be? Up, down, forward, reverse... we'll figure it out."

Archer's look tells her that he doesn't share her confidence... and neither does Ianto.

"I really hope you're better at driving than Suzie was," he murmurs. "There's more at stake here than just having the SUV pulled out of the Bay.

Another low-frequency boom and the following jolt give his words the necessary emphasis.

* * *

On the Main Bridge, Hoshi has laid the feed of the external cameras on the big screen. It now shows two larger Suliban cell ships, cruising side by side directly below the blue phosphorous layer. At regular intervals, they each release inverted depth charges, which slowly rise into the clouds above.

"Incoming!" Lieutenant Fuller at Tactical warns and everyone braces for impact.

The two dept charges rise into frame in the foreground of the main viewer and detonate. Two low-frequency booms can be heard immediately, followed by two jolts, more quickly than before.

Lieutenant Fuller at Tactical swears under his breath. "Dammit, they are getting closer!"

"Don't sweat, Lieutenant," Archer says airily. "We'll be back before you know it."

Then he turns to T'Pol, with a sense of urgency in his voice. "Listen to me very carefully, Subcommander. I'm leaving _you_ in command because I need Trip in Engineering and Reed at the weapons, but that doesn't mean you can use my ship as you please. You have your orders. Have Mayweather plot a course for Kronos, so that we can blow this joint in the nanosecond we return. And have all weapons powered up and ready. I've got the feeling that we won't be able to leave here without a fight."

"There's a Vulcan ship less than two days away," T'Pol reminds him. "It's illogical to attempt this alone."

Archer gives her one of those patented, false thousand megawatt smiles that never reach his eyes. "I was beginning to think you understood why we have to do this alone."

But clearly, T'Pol does not.

"You will have other opportunities to demonstrate your... _independence_ ," she says in a tone that indicates the word leaves a bad taste in her mouth.

Archer's smile grows wider; there is some hones amusement in it now.

"Well, you know the saying: never put off 'til tomorrow..."

"You could be killed," T'Pol warns him. "All three of you."

Archer is truly amused now, his eyes gleaming in that flirtatious manner both Sandra and Ianto know all too well.

"Am I sensing concern?" he asks cagely, and Ianto has to gasp as he gets hit by a salvo of 51st century pheromones. They may have been diluted in the generations between Jack Harkness and Jack Archer, but they are still fairly potent.

He has not expected that; and, by the way she is blushing involuntarily, neither has Sandra.

"Last time I checked, that was considered an emotion," Archer continues, the legendary Harkness charm at full power, and even T'Pol has to bring herself under control with conscious effort.

"If anything happens to either of you, the Vulcan High Command will hold _me_ responsible," she argues in a somewhat lame effort to cover.

"Oh, don't worry, Subcommander," Sandra consoles her with a wide, truly wicked grin. "Fortune favours fools, small children and men with the Harkness gene."

Archer grins at them, his grin full of mischief, but before he could retaliate, the turbolift doors open and out marches Lieutenant Reed, carrying two silver equipment cases. Archer drops the flirting act at once and is all business again.

"You're finished?"

Reed nods, sets the cases on captain's chair and flips the lid on one of them to reveal a rectangular device.

"It should reverse the polarity of any maglock within a hundred metres," he says, indicating the controls. "Once you've set the sequence, you'll have five seconds."

"Child's play," Sandra comments flippantly. "You'd be amazed what I can do in five seconds; and no, dismantling the warp engine doesn't count."

Archer shakes his head in tolerant amusement. Reed's face remains pinched. He dislikes levity during important missions and they can hardly get any more important than the current one, in his opinion.

"One more thing," he flips open the other equipment case, and pulls out two Starfleet-issue hand guns with pistol-grips. He gives them to Archer, who grins in delight.

"Ah! Our new weapons."

"Advanced phase-pistols," Reed explains. "They have two settings: stun and kill. It would be best not to confuse them."

"We'll try," Ianto replies dryly.

He doesn't like Reed's condescending manner any better than Owen's rudeness. Whom does the armoury officer think he's dealing with? Amateurs? He wouldn't have lasted a week at Torchwood Three!

Before he could seriously consider punching the lieutenant in the face, and court-martial be damned, here's another low boom... and then a startling jolt.

"I believe that was our clue to get this mission started," Archer says; then he looks at T'Pol. "Keep my ship in one piece, will you? I'm planning to come home, soon."

With that, he turns for the turbolift doors, Sandra and Ianto hot on his heels. They've got a Klingon to find and rescue, and their time is running out quickly.

~TBC~


	11. Chapter 11: Search & Rescue

**A Matter of Time**

 **by Soledad**

For disclaimer, rating, etc., see the Introduction.

I always wondered why, in canon, it would be Tucker who steered the Suliban cell ship, considering the fact that Archer was a pilot and he wasn't. So I gave Tucker's role to Sandra, since she's basically a second edition to Suzie Costello, who had the uncanny gift of "getting into alien tech" and would be capable of doing the same. In theory.

The Klingon phrases _not_ from the onscreen dialogue are from Marc Okrand's "Klingon Dictionary", the printed version. Since he's the linguist who practically created the language, they are as canon as canon goes. The translations are at the end of the chapter. Unfortunately, I can't offer translations for the onscreen dialogue. I tried to backtrack the phrases in the Dictionary but didn't find them. So I simply decided that they came from a different dialect.

* * *

 **Chapter 11 – Search & Rescue**

Within ten minutes, the captured Suliban cell ship launches from the Shuttle Bay and heads downward. _Enterprise_ is still moving slowly through the blue gas of the red giant's phosphorous layer. The little ship is cramped and trembling. Archer and Sandra are sharing the single cockpit bench, desperately trying to make sense of the completely alien technology as they go, while Ianto is standing behind them – no other seats being available – and watching the sensor readings.

Fortunately, their visibility through the blue gas is non-existent, so they don't have to fear an attack – _yet_. That doesn't mean they're safe, though, by far, since much of what they do with the ship is guesswork at best. The maintenance manual can only help them with the most basic things.

To add insult to injury, a light on a side panel begins to blink, and an alarm starts to sound.

"What's that?" Archer demands.

Sandra shrugs. "Travis said not to worry about that panel."

"That's reassuring," Archer says in a tone that clearly indicates that it is _not_.

Ianto calls up the mental image of the maintenance manual to check the possibilities.

"It's a proximity alert, sir," he reports only seconds later. "We're about to…"

He's interrupted when the ship is buffeted by a sudden pocket of turbulence. Archer and Sandra are knocked together. Sandra is holding an alien steering mechanism with both hands, her face locked in that single-minded concentration Suzie used to display when "getting into the alien tech", as she called it. Sandra seems to have inherited the ability, together with the DNA, even though she overcompensates a bit for the impact, so that the ship weaves for a moment before it stabilizes.

Ianto needs all his considerable willpower _not_ to get sick, and even Archer looks a bit queasy.

"They sure didn't build these things for comfort," he mutters.

Sandra flashes him a wicked grin. "Wait 'til we get the Klingon in here with us. Ianto, can you tell me our location?"

"If I'm reading this right, we should be about twenty kilometres from _Enterprise_ , Ianto replies, studying the control panel.

"Drop the pitch thirty degrees," Archer orders. "Steady as she goes."

I hope so," Sandra mutters, wrestling the steering mechanism into obedience. "And in we go…"

* * *

On the Main Bridge of _Enterprise_ , the tension can almost be physically felt. But they are all professionals and keep their calm… at least outwardly. In truth, Reed is the only one among them who's seen actual battle in outer space – well, save perhaps T'Pol, whose past is still nebulous to them – and even in _that_ battle, Starfleet Intelligence was merely a covert observer.

Mayweather might have been in some minor skirmishes, usually with pirates – that's part of life as a space boomer – but this is difficult. Now a hostile alien force is actively seeking to destroy their ship.. and they don't even know _why_. It is a disconcerting fact.

"Hold on," Reed warns everyone as they hear the low-frequency boom of another deep charge.

They all brace as the ship jolts.

"That one was a lot closer," Mayweather says, a bit unnecessarily. They might be new to deep space travel, but they aren't stupid. They can all figure out that much on their own.

"If we change our position, they'll have to start from scratch," Reed suggests.

Which, too, is stating the obvious, but he's getting anxious and needs a ventil to calm his nerves.

T'Pol gives him an even look. "If we change our position, the Captain will have no way of finding us," she returns.

It is the bitter truth and Reed knows it. Still, sitting there like a duck in a pond, in clear sight for everyone to target them, goes against every instinct he's inherited from his naval ancestors… or got drilled into him at the Security Academy.

"All right," he says. "We'll wait… for now."

"That," T'Pol tells him coolly, "is not your decision to make, Lieutenant. The captain has entrusted his ship to me."

"Yeah; to _save_ it, should he fail to return," Reed points out with some vehemence. "Not to let it be shot to smithereens in the illogical hope that he would return _before_ the Suliban manage to locate us."

Calling a Vulcan illogical is the greatest insult possible. Everyone knows that; the Bridge crew holds their collective breaths, awaiting the explosion. The answer, however, is rather anticlimactic: it manifests in that perfect Vulcan eyebrow™.

"As you say, Lieutenant," T'Pol replies calmly. "We shall wait… for now."

* * *

In the meantime, the Suliban cell ship with Archer, Sandra and Ianto on board, is struggling its way through he thick layer of phosphorous towards the base of their enemies. The trembling that can be markedly felt is only partially caused by the roiling gas. Their lack of familiarity with the alien system is also part of the problem, as Sandra fights the redundant technology valiantly.

"I think we're in position," Ianto, who's been left in charge of the control screen, finally says.

"About time," Archer glances at Sandra. "Bring the docking interface online."

She automatically reaches out to press a button; then thinks better of it and presses another one. The interface hums to life.

"Coaxial ports," Archer says.

Sandra hits another control. They hear a brief hissing sound.

"Open," Ianto reports.

Archer takes a deep breath. "Let's go."

Sandra takes the steering mechanism in both hands, and gently begins to ease the ship downward (it reminds Ianto how Suzie used to always beat them in video games). Through the windows, they see the blue phosphorous clouds begin to thin out – until they abruptly break through to clear space. The trembling stops… but there is nothing to see in front of them.

"Where is it?" Archer looks around, confused. "According to the sensor data it was right here.

Ianto studies the alien graphic on his control screen. "Bank starboard, ninety degrees," he says to Sandra.

She moves the steering controller, and the ship banks sharply, dizzily revealing the huge Suliban Helix directly below them. It's too far away to see the individual components of which it consists – in fact, it appears like a tower hanging freely in space. It is an impressive sight.

"There you are!" Archer murmurs, a little jazzed, and Ianto nods.

"That's the upper-support radius," he tells Sandra, consulting the graphics. "Drop down right below it and start a counter-clockwise sweep."

Sandra looks at Archer for confirmation and the captain nods. "You heard the man, Ensign," then he removes a hand-held scanner from his belt and starts looking for the next best airlock.

Ianto could tell him where it is, of course, but that's knowledge he's not supposed to have – not to mention that the general location of airlocks and the distance between them in a standard Helix is about the only piece of solid information the Temporal Agency had (or rather _will_ have) about 22nd century Suliban Helices – so he chooses to shut up and allow Archer to do his job.

Instead, he opts to watch on the control screen how their tiny cell ship descends down past the numerous levels of the Helix. Other cell ships, mostly larger than theirs, engage and disengage from the huge structure in no discernable pattern.

Once again, he must think of worker bees; which is the more surprising, knowing that the Suliban are actually highly individualistic people. It is deeply odd that they would willingly become but little cogwheels in such a large system; but apparently, fanaticism is a tendency shared by most so-called intelligent species.

Sandra is now slowing their descent, and begins manoeuvring the ship horizontally. The hull of the Helix is moving past the windows – it is an impressive spectacle, but she has no time to care about it right now.

"Captain," she says dryly. "An airlock any time now would be nice."

"A little more," Archer is working on his scanner frantically. "Just a little more..."

Sandra is gritting her teeth with Suzie's single-minded concentration as she keeps wrestling with the steering mechanism. There is a scraping sound, then the ship abruptly bumps into the Helix. Ianto loses his balance and is thrown against Archer's back, who gives Sandra a wry look.

"Your driving style reminds me of Trip," he says. "At least we aren't damaging _Enterprise_ this time."

Sandra shrugs unrepentantly. "You know the saying, Captain: miracles we can deliver immediately; for the impossible we need a little longer," she glances back at Ianto who's landed rather hard against the cockpit bench. "You okay back there, Jonesy?"

Ianto stiffens at her slip of tongue (and he can see Archer has noticed it, too), but pretends that it didn't happen.

"A few bruises, slight loss of dignity… the usual," he replies, without missing a beat, and Sandra delivers the standard riposte right on time.

"That's Torchwood for you," then she looks at Archer. "I believe, Captain, we're right where we're supposed to be."

"Affirmative," Archer consults his scanner, focused completely on the mission again, but Ianto knows it isn't over yet. As soon as they're back aboard _Enterprise_ , there will be questions; and he'll have to decide how much to reveal, quickly.

"Let's dock this thing," Archer says, and the ship slows down, almost to a stop. Through the window, they can see a circular airlock protruding from the Helix.

Archer now takes over half the controls. A Suliban pilot may be able to steer the vessel single-handedly, but for humans not familiar with the technology, it is a two-person job

"Manoeuvring thrusters," Archer says in a clipped tone. "I'll do the steering for this part."

"Be my guest, Captain," Sandra's relief, as she switches to manoeuvring thrusters, is palpable. She is a wiz when it comes to the hardware, but Archer is a pilot, born and trained to perfection.

Once again, Ianto is reminded of a video game as their captain begins to carefully manipulate the alien controls, having the ship edge sideways towards the airlock. After a tense moment or two, there is a loud _clang_ ; the ship jolts slightly and they can hear a series of whirring mechanical sounds as the docking ports lock into place.

Archer releases a long-held breath and wipes his sweaty face with the sleeve of his uniform jacket.

"Not my best docking manoeuvre, but it will do," he says. "What now?"

Before anyone could think of an answer, the hatch opens to reveal a darkly-lit corridor, leading – presumably – to the inside of the Helix.

"Right," Archer says dryly. "Gear up, people, and let's go!"

* * *

Mere minutes later they are on their way along the corridor, phase pistols drawn. Ianto carries the silver equipment case, while Sandra keeps her eyes on the scanner and Archer protects their back, with a phase pistol in each hand. It is one of those ridiculous superhero moments in which _Jack_ has always excelled. Ianto fights back the memory of the Brecon Beacons and Jack breaking through the door of the house on a _tractor_ , of all things – something else he'll have to share with Sandra eventually.

It is apparently genetic, too, and so are Archer's reflexes. Because when they round a corner and catch a Suliban by surprise, the spotted alien doesn't even find the time to draw his sidearm before Archer fires and knocks him to the ground, unconscious.

"Stun seems to work," the captain eyes the new weapon with appreciation.

"I for my part prefer the Torchwood-issue stun gun," Ianto mutters. "It's smaller, less obvious and a great deal more efficient."

"Of course it is," Sandra replies with a wicked grin. " _I've_ constructed it, after all!"

"Actually, that was Suzie," Ianto corrects, but she shrugs his objection aside.

"Same difference. I could have done it, too. I'll never understand why Starfleet wouldn't consider our design for mass production. These phase pistols are so clumsy!"

"But they've got a much greater range," Ianto reminds her. "With our stun guns, you need to get really close to your target; that might be dangerous, say, with a Klingon in the game."

"Speaking of which," Archer interrupts," do you two think you could perhaps reschedule your fascinating discussion for later and focus on actually _finding_ the Klingon?"

"Don't worry, sir," Ianto replies with a bland smile. "We of Torchwood Cardiff can multitask with alacrity. We had to, if we wanted to survive."

"I hate to remind you, but we actually _didn't_ survive," Sandra points out, her eyes still fixed on the scanner.

"Semantics," Ianto replies airily. "We're both here, aren't we?"

"Living someone else's life – in my case anyway," Sandra returns. "On borrowed time in yours."

"Still better than being dead," Ianto shrugs.

"People," Archer says with forced patience. "As fascinating as this is, would you _please_ shut up and focus on your jobs?"

"Sorry, Captain," Sandra looks genuinely contrite this time. "Neither of us is really military material."

"Yeah, that was UNIT," Ianto comments. "We're more… _ad hoc_ , as Jack would say."

Archer appears close to exploding, but in that moment Sandra's eyes lit up.

"Oh!" she says brightly. "I think I've found him. This way…"

* * *

On the Main Bridge of _Enterprise_ , everyone is waiting anxiously for the return of the landing party – or, at least, for a life sign from them. But Hoshi, pressing the small, hand-held earpiece generally known as a Feinberger module to her left ear, has to admit that it is harder to establish contact with them that she would have thought.

That T'Pol is displaying subtle signs of impatience – the Vulcan equivalent of screaming in frustration – does _not_ help.

"Anything?" she might imagine the desperate urgency in the Vulcan's controlled voice… or she might not. She listens more intently, then shakes her head.

"The phosphorous is distorting all the EM bands..." she manages to jerk the earpiece away just in time before her eardrums would burst. "Grab on to something," she warns the others. "Incoming!"

This time the effect of the inverted deep charges is a great deal more serious. The two rapid booms are followed almost instantly by two powerful jolts. Bulkheads blow out and consoles go down, debris and streams of spewing gas envelop the Bridge. For a moment, Hoshi seriously wonders if they were actually hit… and whether this means the end of their mission.

But even in the middle of the chaos, she can hear the calm, authoritative voice of Lieutenant Hess ordering the maintenance crew to the Bridge, and soon the crewmen Haynem, Dillard and Rhodes arrive and start working on the damaged consoles. A few minutes later the spewing gas subsides and the instruments flicker back to life... a fact that makes Lieutenant Reed only moderately happy.

"This is ridiculous!" he growls at T'Pol. "If we don't move the ship, Captain Archer won't have anything to look for when he gets back."

He is right, of course, and T'Pol knows that. She is still hesitating to give the order, though.

"We are going to need that ear of yours," she finally says to Hoshi, coming to a decision; then, while Hoshi presses the Feinberger to her ear, she turns to Mayweather. "Move us away, five kilometres."

Mayweather looks up to her doubtfully. "In what direction?"

T'Pol, rather uncharacteristically for a Vulcan, hesitates for a moment.

"Any direction," she replies.

Mayweather nods and moves the ship, while Hoshi holds on to her earpiece for dear life and keeps listening for anything that may come through the comm system.

* * *

The Torchwood-issue scanner works like a charm, which is not a surprise. It is still vastly superior to anything mankind has come up with, even in the 22nd century, and in this particular case Ianto doesn't mind that UNIT clearly had the ruins of the Hub plundered after Jack's – _their_ Jack's – departure from Earth. With Sandra, the technology is still in the right hands… and it can mean the difference between life and death. They _must_ remain one step ahead of the Suliban, all the time, if they intend to get out of here alive.

"This way," Sandra says and turns to the left.

The narrow little corridor ends in front of a closed door, but closed doors have never been a hindrance for Suzie Costello, no matter in which incarnation. She removes a wall panel the others haven't even spotted, and inserts a little gizmo that doesn't look like standard Starfleet equipment, either, into the nest of circuits behind it. It fuses the circuits in two seconds and the door slides open, revealing what must be some sort of interrogation room.

Or a medieval torture chamber. One of the two.

In any case, Klaang is alone in there indeed, restrained in an elaborate chair, with tubes and devices still connected to his massive body. He's semi-conscious at best, but still an impressive sight in the steely blue light from the phosphorous layer above pouring in through the window.

"Well," Archer says, surprised and relieved that there's no-one there than the Klingon. "This is gonna be easier than I thought."

"Famous last words, sir, famous last words," Ianto comments, taking up position at the door to watch the corridor. "I'm afraid you've just jinxed the whole thing for us."

Archer laughs. "Don't be ridiculous!" then he turns to Klaang who is staring at him with open hostility. "It's okay. We're getting you off this thing."

"No, sir," Sandra corrects. " _I am_ getting him off this thing. _You_ are staying out of the way."

"Oh, am I?" Archer asks sarcastically. "Why would I?"

"Because you're a big guy and he'd instinctively see you as a threat – or as a challenge," Sandra replies, while moving to the chair and beginning to unstrap Klaang. "Besides, I've got the better hair for the job."

Ianto suppresses a giggle because truly, Sandra's untamed mane of curly, wavy dark hair does have a vague likeness to that of the Klingon. Sandra winks at him, releases the third and final restraint and drops to the floor at the same moment, rolling out of harm's way just in time when Klaang swings his arm up, intending to knock her across the room.

"Not to mention the fact that I've got ample practice in stepping out of the reach of men twice my size who are trying to beat the crap out of me," she adds darkly.

It doesn't matter that it was _Suzie's_ shitty childhood. The old reflexes are still working and still useful.

Klaang, in the meantime, has gotten to his feet and is savagely pulling the tubes and wires from his body. Ianto locks his stance and takes aim at him with both hands.

" _ **BljatlhHa' qaHoH!,**_ " he says in the military jargon called Clipped Klingon.

It isn't the best phrase for the current situation, but the only one he can think of at the moment.

"I really don't want to have to carry you out of here," he then adds in English, almost conversationally.

Klaang eyes him, a bit hesitant. Being spoken to in Klingon, and in the military slang at that, has clearly surprised him. It can't be guessed whether he actually understands English or not, though. In any case, he seems to be in control of his reactions now.

Mostly.

Hopefully.

"I think he gets the idea," Archer comments. "You're full of surprises, Mr Daniels."

"I try to do my best, sir," Ianto replies modestly.

Archer gives him a jaundiced look.

"We're definitely having a _very_ long conversation, once this is over," he promises. "Now, give him a hand."

Ianto admits to himself that he's not too anxious to get close to the huge barbarian, but steels himself and throws Klaang's massive arm over his shoulder, helping the Klingon to follow Archer out the door. Sandra takes over the rear, since all they have to do is to track their own steps back to the ship.

 _How_ exactly the captain is planning to squeeze all four of them – including the enormous Klingon – into the one-man Suliban vessel, though, is everyone's guess.

They move as quickly as they can. Archer, pistol at-the-ready, is leading the way confidently enough. Not that surprising, really; Jack also had an excellent sense of direction. Sandra still keeps half an eye on her scanner, just in case, while Ianto has begun to sweat profoundly, bearing part of the weight of the huge Klingon, who doesn't seem to be fully lucid yet, as he begins to bellow again.

" _ **Qu'taw bob!**_ " he shouts, almost crushing Ianto with his weight as he's struggling along.

" _ **YljathQo'!**_ " Ianto snaps at him.

Klaang has fallen back to a dialect he doesn't understand, and it frustrates him. He was taught the main dialects on Futurama, but Klaang must be originating from some remote province.

" _ **Muh tok!**_ " Klaang snorts.

Whatever _that_ means, it clearly isn't a compliment.

" _ **Lo'laHbe'ghach!**_ " Ianto returns sourly and yanks on the Klingon's heavy arm lying across his shoulder like a log to make him move faster. They don't have all day.

Which is truer than he might think, because as they keep moving, suddenly a Suliban weapon's blast tears away a large chunk of the wall next to them. Naturally, they dive for cover, but Klaang seems to be unable to shut up, regardless of the situation. He keeps screaming obscenities at the Suliban in that obscure dialect of his.

" _ **Dajvo tag:h! Borat!**_ " he shouts.

At least Ianto _thinks_ they are obscenities. There's no way to tell, really.

"You tell him, big guy," Sandra comments dryly.

Archer ignores them both, his tactical mind already calculating the next necessary step.

"Give me the box," he says, indicating the silver case hanging from Ianto's shoulder. But Ianto shakes his head.

"No, sir. I'm more than qualified to dissolve a maglock, regardless of its size or complexity. However, I'm _not_ qualified to command _Enterprise_. She needs a captain – _her_ captain. You can't let her in the hands of a Vulcan."

As he's intended, _that_ argument works. Archer nods and takes over supporting the Klingon.

Just then, a Suliban attacker rushes into view from an adjoining corridor, catching them by surprise. As he takes aim at Archer and Ianto, though, Klaang strikes the creature with brutal force, knocking him into a bulkhead. He then grabs the Suliban and pounds him with a couple of powerful blows that could knock a Judoon out cold, knocking him unconscious!

Then he turns to Archer and Trip with a feral grin, baring his razor-sharp teeth. It is an unsettling sight; they're glad he's on their side, at least for the moment.

" _ **MajQa'!**_ ," Ianto tells him, when another Suliban weapon's blast whizzes by. Ianto turns to Archer. "Sir, you should get to the ship. I'll be right behind you."

Archer hesitates, but Sandra, coming from Torchwood and therefore a lot less idealistic, simply pushes him and Klaang take off down an adjoining corridor.

"Be careful, Jonesy," she adds before hurrying after them.

"Always," Ianto promises to her retreating back.

Then he puts down the case, opens it and removes the rectangular device within. He activates it and attaches it to the wall. He touches a series of controls in the pre-practiced order, then goes to his knees, covering his head. Soon, a low-pitched whine begins to build up in volume and intensity... and then the device emits a blinding energy pulse that radiates in all directions.

As the light recedes, Ianto gets to his feet. The corridor begins to tremble, there is the rumbling sounds of docking ports unlocking. Ianto looks down just in time to see the floor separating right before him. The entire corridor splits apart. Force-fields flash on as the interlocking elements making up this section of the Helix lose their cohesion.

Ianto mutters something truly vile in Welsh as he realizes he's been cut off from the others. He doesn't have the time to work out a strategy right now, though, as a Suliban weapon's blast strikes nearby. He has no choice but to turn and run.

* * *

Cramped into the tiny cockpit of the trembling Suliban cell ship, Archer, Sandra and the Klingon watch with morbid fascination as the entire upper section of the Helix is dismantling in front of their eyes. Some sections are huge, comprised of dozens of cell ships still connected to one another. Other sections are made of only one or two ships. The myriad sections tumble slowly away from the core.

"Captain," Sandra says quietly, "we should pick up Ianto and leave while we still can."

"You're right," Archer flips open his communicator. "Archer to Daniels."

"It worked," Ianto's tinny voice answers.

"I can see that," Archer replies. "Where _are_ you?"

"Still on the central core, I'm afraid, "Ianto says flatly. "There's nothing you can do for me, sir. Get Klaang back to _Enterprise_. That's why we came here in the first place, right?"

"What about you?" Sandra asks. "We can't leave you behind. Even if we came back for you, it would be near impossible to isolate your bio-signs."

"Don't you _dare_ to endanger the entire ship by coming back for me!" Ianto says sharply. "I have my own means to escape. You two see to get Klaang home safely."

"What sort of means?" Archer asks, not really believing it.

""That, sir, is another topic for that long conversation you're planning to have with me," Ianto replies. "Now, get out of here before the Suliban realize what's happening!"

After a moment of hesitation Archer accepts the inevitable and nods to Sandra to move them. Ianto watches through the window of the interrogation room as the tiny cell ship disengages from a large, floating section of the Helix and begins to wend its way upwards through the chaos. Then he, too, leaves the chamber, moving along the corridor cautiously.

He's about to round a corner when he sees two Suliban moving down the adjoining hall, their backs turned to him. He quickly pulls back, waits for a moment, then pulls out a hand-held scanner – Torchwood-issue, like the one Sandra used – activates it and starts moving in the opposite direction.

* * *

In the Suliban cell ship conditions are cramped at best, with Klaang filling the entire aft section with his bulk. Sandra is at the controls, while Archer keeps his pistol aimed at the Klingon, just in case.

To make the situation even more unpleasant, Klaang, still somewhat delirious, keeps bellowing at Archer – not that either he or Sandra would understand, of course, which makes the captain wonder about his quartermaster and his unexpected fluency in alien languages previously unknown to mankind.

Another topic they'll need to discuss – assuming that Ianto gets away from the Helix in one piece, which Archer begins to doubt.

"We shouldn't have left him behind," he mutters unhappily.

Sandra is focused on the controls; she doesn't even look up as she answers.

"Torchwood agents generally don't live long," she says dryly. "Unless they are Jack Harkness, that is. Ianto and I are unique in that we've come back from the death. Repeatedly. But that isn't – _wasn't_ – what usually happened at Torchwood. At any branch of it, frankly."

"I know about you, of course," Archer says slowly. "But what about Daniels… or whatever his real name happens to be?"

Sandra, her eyes glued to the controls, shakes her head. "I'm sorry, Captain; it's not my story to tell."

" _ **RaQ~o jadICH!**_ " Klaang bellows, and Sandra shoots him an irritated glare over her shoulder.

"I don't particularly like the way _you_ smell, either. Perhaps you should try a different brand of deodorant; one that doesn't expire so quickly."

Klaang bangs the bulkhead with his fist. " _ **MajQa!**_ "

It's hard to decide whether he's enraged or amused. Perhaps it's the same with Klingons. But Archer has had enough. Trying to remember what Ianto said to make the Klingon shut up he barks " _ **YljathQo'!**_ "

Or something similar; with unexpected results. Either he got it right, or he managed to say something particularly insulting. In any case, he's shocked the Klingon into silence. Temporarily, at least, but he's not above to count his blessings.

The relief is woefully short-lived, though. Based on Sandra's pinched expression as she's checking her readings, the next problem has just emerged.

"What's wrong?" Archer asks, already dreading the answer.

"I don't get it," Sandra mutters, confused. "This is right where they're supposed to be..."

Archer wants to ask what she means when realization hits: if _Enterprise_ was forced to move from her current position in order to avoid detection, they may never find the ship again.

Unless he thinks of something _very_ quickly.

* * *

The same thing is concerning Lieutenant Reed on the Main Bridge of _Enterprise_ , which is getting rattled by the jolts of the deep charges again. It seems that their brief respite is over, all too soon.

"The charges are getting closer again," he warns T'Pol, who acknowledges the warning with a brief rising of one eyebrow.

"Another five kilometres, Ensign," she says to Mayweather, who carries out her order but cannot refrain from voicing his own concerns.

"At this rate, the captain will never find us."

"Wait a minute," Hoshi interrupts. "I think I've got something..."

Everyone turns to her. She's still holding the Feinberger module tightly to her left ear and listens to something only she can hear with intense concentration.

"Amplify it," T'Pol orders.

Hoshi taps a control; a cacophony of radio signals, background noise, and distortion fills the Bridge.

"It's the captain," she tells them.

Reed shakes his head. "All I hear is noise."

"Because you don't have the ear for it," Hoshi returns, a clear note of annoyance in her voice; she's fed up with them questioning her professionalism all the time. "Listen more carefully! It's just a narrow notch in the mid-range," she tilts her head to the side as she listens. "He says he's about to ignite his thruster exhaust."

T'Pol quickly moves to her viewing device and peers inside. There's a long, tense moment that seems to go on infinitely, but then…

"Coordinates: one fifty-eight mark one three," she says to Mayweather who works like a demon at his console.

"Laid in," he reports at almost the same moment.

"Ahead, fifty KPH," T'Pol orders; then she turns to Hoshi, her expression guardedly appreciative. "Esparan," he says quietly; the Vulcan equivalent of a 'thank you'.

This is the first time she has acknowledged Hoshi's abilities. Hoshi blushes and offers a slight smile.

"You're welcome."

"I've got them!" Mayweather reports. "Two kilometres, dead ahead."

"Initiate docking procedures," T'Pol orders; then she looks at Anna Hess, manning the engineering console. "Keep the grapplers ready, Lieutenant; just in case."

Anna Hess nods wordlessly and makes the necessary preparations; which is when Hoshi drops the next bombshell.

"Subcommander, I'm only picking up three bio-signs," she reports worriedly. "One is Klingon... the other two are human."

T'Pol's look is impenetrable. "Is it possible to identify the human bio-signs?"

Hoshi shakes her head apologetically. "This is not a Vulcan ship, Subcommander; and your people chose _not_ to share with us that particular piece of technology."

"I see," T'Pol seems as unflappable as ever. "In that case we shall have to wait until we can identify them the old-fashioned way. Bring in the Suliban ship, Mr Mayweather. I am going down to the Shuttle Bay; Lieutenant Reed, please accompany me. Ensign Sato, ask Commander Tucker to meet us in the captain's Ready Room in ten minutes. Lieutenant Hess, you are in command."

By the time the crew acknowledges her orders, she is already halfway to the turbolift, Reed hot on her heals.

* * *

Ten minutes later all senior officers – with the single exception of Phlox who has whisked off the Klingon to Sickbay to check him over – plus Sandra Massaro are gathered in the captain's Ready Room, arguing about the next step they need – or want – to make. There's no consensus about it so far.

"Our mission is to return the Klingon to his homeworld," T'Pol emphasizes. "Another rescue attempt could jeopardize that mission."

"Besides, Ianto specifically told us _not_ to go back for him," Sandra adds. "He said he had his own means to escape."

"And you actually believe that?" Tucker asks doubtfully.

Sandra nods. "He's always been very resourceful."

Reed looks at her in suspicion. "You know him from before?"

"In a manner," Sandra replies with a shrug. "It was my… _donor_ who used to work with him. But yeah, I know what he's capable of," she looks at Archer. "And since you've got the Harkness genes in spades, Captain, he can also estimate just how stubborn you can be."

"You mean he might have lied, just to prevent us from starting another rescue mission?" Archer asks slowly. "Does he have a death wish or whatnot?"

"I don't think he wants to die any more than either of us," Sandra replies thoughtfully. "But he's Torchwood, and Torchwood agents are prepared to die if it would move a mission forward," she turns to T'Pol. "Your people have got a saying: The needs of the many…"

"… outweigh the needs of the few,,, or the one," T'Pol finishes for her. Then she looks at Archer. "Captain, the situation must be analyzed logically. As regrettable as it would be to leave Mr Daniels behind, you were told the possible ramifications, should Klaang fail to take Sarin's message to Qo'noS. It is a risk we simply cannot take."

"So we just toss Daniels to the wolves and go our merry way?" Tucker demands angrily.

"It was his choice," T'Pol points out with infuriating logic. "Are you going to make his sacrifice pointless by putting the mission at an unacceptable risk, just to calm your own conscience?"

There's a long moment of heavy silence. She is right, and so is Sandra, and they all know it. They still don't like the idea of having somebody – anybody – behind to the tender mercies of the Suliban. Archer, especially, knows that this is one of those hard decisions that _he_ has to make: a captain's burden that he cannot delegate.

He curses under his breath and pushes the button of the comm unit built into his desk.

"Mr Mayweather, this is the captain. Set course for the Klingon homeworld and engage as soon as you're done. Go to maximum warp; we're running out of time."

~TBC~

 **Klingon phrases:**

 _ **BljatlhHa' qaHoH!**_ " = Say the wrong thing and I'll kill you! – in this, shortened form: If you misspeak, I'll kill you!

 _ **YljathQo'!**_ = Be quiet!

 _ **Lo'laHbe'ghach!**_ = Literally: Become worthless! Ianto tries to use the phrase in the sense of "Worthless git!" At least I hope it works that way. *g*

 _ **MajQa'!**_ = Well done!


	12. Chapter 12: The Time Lock

**A Matter of Time**

 **by Soledad**

For disclaimer, rating, etc., see the Introduction.

For non-Trekkers: **Chronitons** are subatomic particles with temporal properties. Although not harmful to humanoids, chronitons can be fatal to life forms which exist outside of time. The temporal transporter utilized by the crew of the 29th century timeship _Relativity_ – on the successor of which Ianto used to travel during his training at the Temporal Agency – produced a detectable chroniton flux of .003. (according to the Memory Alpha website). I don't know about them being present in the Whoniverse (although I might be mistaken), but if they were, I think Torchwood One would have known about them.

I imagine the transporter chambers of Futurama to work in a similar way as the ones on Atlantis: basically, you step in, the door closes, you give your destination on a touch-screen, the door opens and wham! You're where you wanted to go.

Some of the lines were borrowed from the first, rejected script of the _Enterprise_ pilot.

* * *

 **Chapter 12 – The Time Lock**

Having successfully avoided a potentially lethal encounter with the two armed Suliban, Ianto weighs his possibilities. Finding an empty room for the beam-out wouldn't be a problem. He was being truthful when he told Captain Archer that he had his own means to escape. He does. But he cannot leave just yet.

Freeing Klaang, so that they can take him back to Qo'noS, was the easier part of his tasks. With that, he had sufficient help from his shipmates. With his more important task, he cannot count on such help. That is a bridge he will have to cross alone.

He watches the scanner, squatting on a metal beam eight foot off the floor (it is a good thing that one had to get used to great heights around Jack Harkness). The two blips representing the Suliban he's just evaded are moving away from the central indicator. Good. Now he can go and find the temporal chamber, in which the mysterious supporter of the mottled aliens is said to communicate with its underlings. Finding out the identity of that person is Ianto's second, more important task.

When the two Suliban are – hopefully – out of earshot, Ianto jumps to the deck, holds up the scanner, hitting a button which gives a wider view of the vicinity. He sees other blips, most likely representing other Suliban. However, there is a larger area – presumably what used to be the centre of the Helix - where are no bio-signs at all. Ianto checks his mental map of the general layout of the complex, figures out which way to go, then heads down the corridor.

The scanner readings eventually lead him to a narrow passageway that looks completely different than the corridors he's seen so far – even the metal of which its walls are composed seems different.

Different but not completely unknown; at least not to Ianto. It reminds him of the alloy the heavy Vault doors protecting the deep chamber housing Torchwood Three's Mainframe used to be. He happens to know that a large chunk of intelligent metal from the 37th century (give or take a few decades) once fell through the Rift and was persuaded by Jack to morph into those impenetrable doors.

Those, too, gave one the creepy feeling of being watched. Constantly.

Ianto briefly wonders if UNIT – or later Starfleet – has ever managed to break through those doors, into Mainframe's inner camber. Somehow he doubts it; not even with Sandra's help. After the second death of Suzie Jack changed all the access codes. From that day on, only two people could have entered that chamber; and UNIT – and later Starfleet – had no access to either of them.

Jack has left Earth after the 456 disaster. And Ianto is, to everyone's best knowledge, dead.

Standing in the entrance to this strange hallway – which ends in a single door – Ianto glances at his scanner. The readings now appear heavily distorted... at least that is how they would appear to anyone from the 22nd century. Ianto, however, is well capable of interpreting them. He was trained to recognize chroniton particles already back at Torchwood One.

Not that it would be surprising. Thanks to the Arcateenian woman Sarin, they all know by now that the Cabal gets their orders from the future. This must be the temporal chamber, then. The known facts – few as they are – end here. From here on, he is on his own.

Ianto checks that his temporal transponder and alarm button are fully functional; then he cautiously approaches the door, which opens automatically. As he tentatively moves inside, he finds himself in a small vestibule. Barely has he entered, when the door locks and seals behind him. At the same time, a reverberating sound echoes through the room, and the lights begin to flash. Ianto's movements are slowed down till he can barely move.

It's like being underwater. Anyone else – at least people from the 22nd century – would panic, but thanks to his training in the future, Ianto recognizes the temporal compression sequence and waits patiently while time shifts and equalizes. He does feel a bit of nostalgia for the TARDIS, where no such processes were needed, but he can deal with them.

At least in theory.

As the sequence gradually ends, Ianto's movements return to normal. Another door opens leading to a dimly- lit chamber. Ianto steps through. The dark, labyrinthine room appears to stretch on infinitely. As he takes a few steps inside, he notices something odd. As he walks, his arms blur in a pre-echo effect, swinging upward a split- second before the real arm does the same.

He looks down at his feet, and realizes that the sounds of his footsteps precede the actual step. Puzzled, he puts the scanner back in his pocket and gently claps his hands together – again, the sound precedes the action.

"This is not good," he mutters under his breath; his voice is blurred, too, with an eerie pre-echo to it. It seems as if the future has leaked through some malfunctioning barrier into the present – just like it happened right before he and the others would open the Rift, in the vain hope that it would seal the time barrier again.

It is _not_ a memory he cherishes. But he has a job to do, and so he methodically begins to explore the room, recording everything with his scanner. Agent Danlen and the others will need those records.

The architecture is unlike anything he's seen before... the futuristic alien technology is undecipherable. He inspects the podium under a metallic archway, but he's unable to guess its purpose. When he turns his attention to the archway overhead, however, he freezes.

The metal bears inscriptions in high relief: interconnecting circles, cogwheels within cogwheels and oddly swung arches. Anyone else would think it's some sort of decoration; a bit steampunk-oriented perhaps, but still pretty. Yet Ianto knows better. No-one who's ever travelled with the Doctor would mistake Gallifreyan script for anything else.

Unfortunately, he cannot read it – the Time Lords are a secretive lot. But its mere presence here is more than a little unnerving.

He records the script and is about to leave the temporal chamber – trying to contact somebody from a different time could be risky here – when he hears the long, reverberating sound of the time-lock. He draws his weapon – not the Starfleet-issue phase pistol but a small, sonic blaster he could almost hide in his palm – and turns to the door, which is opening. The dark vestibule beyond appears empty as the door closes and seals, but Ianto is sure that it isn't. The outer door wouldn't open by accident, of _that_ he's quite certain.

He slowly backs away, silently listening, senses heightened. After an endless moment, he hears a very quiet pre-echoing effect, followed by another... and another... He realizes they're the footsteps of an unseen assailant. Which would mean Suliban, most likely. Them and their chameleon trick.

Ianto looks around himself for a sufficient hiding place but finds none. So, for the lack of a better choice, he ducks behind one of the sides of the archway. There is barely room enough to squeeze himself in, but that's the only cover he can find.

From the seemingly empty vestibule, he can hear a voice, pre-echoing:

"You're wasting your time. Klaang knows nothing."

Despite the time distortion effect, he recognizes that voice immediately from the records played to him at Futurama. It is the voice of Silik, the Cabal leader.

At the same time, the eerie sounds of the Suliban's footsteps can again be heard. Ianto tries to track the sound with his sonic blaster on the ready.

"It would be unwise to discharge that weapon in this room," Silik warns.

It sounds almost friendly. _Almost_.

"What is this room?" Ianto is deliberately playing dumb; he needs to win some time to escape the temporal chamber. "What goes on in here?"

"You're very curious, Ianto," the amusement in the Suliban's voice is unmistakable. "May I call you Ianto?"

"Usually, only my friends do so, and I have the distinct suspicion that you're _not_ one of them," Ianto is still trying to track the sound with his weapon. "Or am I supposed to be impressed that you know my name?"

"I've learned a great deal about you," the distorted voice answers. "Even more than _you_ know."

Ianto doubts _that_ very much, but he's not going to reveal to the Suliban anything that could be used against him in any way.

"Well, I guess you have me at a disadvantage," he says instead. "So why don't you drop the invisible man routine and let me see who I'm talking to?"

He keeps searching the darkness for signs of movement, his blaster raised, but so far without results.

"You wouldn't have come looking for Klaang if Sarin had told you what she knew," the distorted voice of Silik replies. "That means you're no threat to me. But I need you to leave this room. _Now_."

The time-lock door hisses open. Ianto hears the footsteps again, but this time he also _sees_ something – a slight distortion against the far wall. It is almost the same as spotting the fairies from the corner of his eye – and equally unsettling.

"I'm afraid I can't do that… not yet," he replies, and quickly fires to use his advantage. A blurred pre-echo of the shot precedes the blast itself.

Both miss Silik, and strike the far wall. A jagged wave of temporal energy emanates from the point of impact and sweeps across the room. Ianto drops to the floor instinctively, but even so, the edge of the wave catches him and knocks him against a bulkhead, where he holds his head in pain until the wave dissipates.

"I warned you not to fire the weapon," Silik's voice is mildly amused, and Ianto sees the slight distortion again as the Suliban moves across the room.

"This chameleon thing is pretty fancy," he comments casually; then he deliberately drops the bombshell to make Silik realize he knows more than the Suliban might think. "Was it payment for pitting the Klingons against each other? A trophy from your Temporal Cold War?"

Suddenly, a blur of pre-echo motion rushes at him, immediately followed by the Suliban, who becomes visible and smashes into him. Although he has expected the attack, the sheer _speed_ of the Suliban still catches Ianto by surprise. He is knocked hard to the ground, his blaster slides away.

Thanks to the training received on Futurama, Ianto gets back to his feet quickly – only to see Silik aiming the blaster at him.

"I was going to let you go, you know," the Suliban's distorted voice has something close to regret.

"Really?" Ianto starts backing away slowly. "Then you obviously don't know as much about me as you thought you did."

"On the contrary," the Suliban returns coldly. "I could've told you what day you were going to die... but I suppose that's about to change."

"Yeah, that's the problem with the future, isn't it? It's in no way set in stone," Ianto agrees amiably. "You see, I've already died twice; what makes you think you'll get lucky the third time?"

"Determination," Silik replies and fires the blaster.

The pre-echo hits Ianto square in the chest, but before the real beam can reach him, he rolls to his left and the blast misses him by inches. As he leaps behind a large bank of alien consoles, the shockwave of temporal energy sweeps across the room, knocking Silik to the ground.

"What's the matter?" Ianto taunts him, while he glances around the room, trying to figure out how to get to the open time-lock. "No genetic tricks to keep you from getting knocked on your scrawny, mottled arse?"

"What you call tricks we call progress," Silik gets into position to make his next move. " Are you aware that your genome is almost identical to that of an ape? The Suliban don't share humanity's patience with natural selection."

"So, to speed things up a little, you struck a deal with the devil?" Ianto shakes his head in amazement. "Have you ever calculated the price of leaping over the necessary phases of evolution? Obviously not. That's pretty stupid of you; the long-term effects could be devastating."

"None of which is your concern, since you obviously won't be around to see them and gloat," Silik ripostes.

Ianto laughs into his face. "If you've learned so much about me, how did you miss the fact that I used to hunt aliens for a living? I have no moral objections to killing you if I have to; and I'm _very_ good at killing things that threaten my kind."

During their debate, he has positioned himself between Silik and the open time-lock. Still hidden behind the consoles, he's removed the communicator from his belt. Carefully calculating the next trajectory of the temporal wave, he throws the communicator against a monitor on the far wall!

The pre-echo effect of the communicator flying through the air draws Silik's attention. On impact, the monitor; Silik whirls and fires the blaster. The shockwave emanates outward. Silik braces himself against the wave of temporal energy, and manages to stay on his feet. Ianto, however, has situated himself in the perfect spot to be thrown into the open time-lock. He lands with practiced ease, rolling over to absorb the impact, and watches smugly as the door begins to close.

Unfortunately, once again he has underestimated the speed with which a Suliban is capable of moving. An instant before the door shuts, the mottled bastard manages to slip inside! The door locks and seals and the temporal decompression sequence begins. Ianto and Silik are momentarily disoriented, their movement slowed by the forces working in the room. Both are desperately trying to be the first to regain control of their body, but Ianto is in clear disadvantage here, the Suliban having considerably more experience with the effect.

As if proving that fact, Silik is slowly raising the weapon. Ianto, using every ounce of strength, manages to push against the wall behind him and smashes into Silik in eerie slow-motion. The blaster is jarred out of Silik's hand and tumbles toward the floor. The sound of it hitting the deck signals that time is gradually returning to normal. The sound of temporal decompression comes to an end and the outer door begins to open.

Ianto lungs for the nearby blaster, but so does the Suliban, too. They struggle for it briefly. Using his greater body mass, Ianto gets the upper hand and forces Silik to the floor, pinning his upturned wrists. After a moment, however, Silik begins to dislocate his wrist in a grotesque rotation, allowing him to reach for the blaster.

Ianto realizes he's no match for this trick. He punches Silik hard in the face, which gives him the opportunity to leap off him, bolt out the door and hit the alarm button of his evacuation transponder. He runs down the temporal corridor for dear life, knowing that the Suliban would be hot on his heels.

At the very moment Silik comes out of the time-lock, though, Ianto begins to dematerialize in mid-stride Silik takes aim and fires, but the blast passes harmlessly through the temporal transporter field and whizzes on the bulkhead.

* * *

Ianto dematerializes in the emergency transporter chamber of Temporal Evacuations, facing a decidedly unhappy Timot Danlen who's waiting for him at the console.

"Agent Daniels," Danlen greets him sourly. "You were not supposed to return before finishing your mission."

"And a good day to you, too," Ianto replies dryly. "Sorry to disappoint you, sir, but it was either this or another trip to Nirvana; and I couldn't be sure that I'd wake up this time."

"What happened?" Danlen helps him off the transporter platform, seeing that he's shaking like a leaf.

"Negative effects of temporal decompression, plus one very pissed Suliban with a weapon who was strongly opposed to my presence in the temporal chamber," Ianto summarizes.

"Any particular Suliban?" Danlen asks as they're heading towards the localized transporter chamber that would deliver them to their destination – this time one of the briefing rooms – within seconds.

"Silik himself," Ianto replies as they enter the small chamber. The door closes, then it opens again, releasing them into Briefing Room #2.

"Did you find out anything about the contact of the Cabal?" Danlen inquires as they take their seats around the conference table.

The only other person present is Lois Ducane, captain of the time ship _Relativity_ , but that's not surprising. Everyone who needs to know what Ianto has to report is most likely watching them through the live feed.

Most of them aren't even likely to be on the same planet. _Or_ in the same time frame.

"I still don't know _who_ it is," Ianto answers slowly. "But it's either a Time Lord or somebody using Gallifreyan technology."

" _What_?!" Danlen and Captain Ducane cry out in unison, shock clearly written in their features; and it takes a lot to shock somebody from the Temporal Agency.

Of course, Time Lords are a law unto themselves – more or less the only bunch the Temporal Agency has never managed to get under control.

Ianto connects his scanner to the computer system of Headquarters and displays the records taken in the temporal chamber on the viewscreen.

"Look at this," he says. "I can't read it – I doubt anyone but a few selected companions of the Doctor could – but this is clearly Gallifreyan script. I've seen enough examples during my brief stay aboard the TARDIS to recognize it."

"But didn't we think the Time Lords were extinct?" Captain Ducane asks with a frown. "Save for the Doctor, that is?"

"They are – in linear time anyway," Danlen explains. "However, their TARDISes enable them to hop across time and space – even dimensions, occasionally – as they please. We may be dealing from a long-dead Time Lord, visiting from the past."

"Or some impostor using bastardised Gallifreyan technology," Ianto points out. "You don't have to go through the whole time decompression process when travelling by TARDIS. Even the _Relativity_ can pass through various time periods effortlessly," he adds with a glance in Captain Ducane's direction.

"We need more data," Danlen decides. "And the first step would be to decrypt and translate this Gallifreyan inscription. Do you think the Doctor would be willing to help us?"

Ianto shakes his head. "Hardly. Time Lords are notoriously reluctant to share their heritage with us, hairless apes, as the Doctor so kindly puts it. Besides, we have no way to know at which point of his personal timeline this is happening. We might cause him to cross his own timeline, and I don't think I'll have to explain _you_ what _that_ would mean."

"A friendly visit from the Reapers," Danlen mutters, shuddering. "All right; no Doctor. But who of his former companions might be able to help?"

"There are two that I can think of," Ianto says slowly. "One is Zoe Heriot, the child prodigy of the space station W3. At this point of her life she's already travelled with the Doctor, and given her genius-level intelligence, she _might_ have decrypted the Gallifreyan alphabet for herself."

"But I thought her memories of her time with the Doctor have been removed," Danlen objects.

Ianto shakes his head again. "You cannot remove a memory unless you physically remove the portion of the human brain where it's stored," he says, remembering Jack's words about why he was never able to reclaim two years' worth of lost memories. "Zoe's memories of the Doctor are heavily blocked; she isn't even aware that she was away fro W3 anymore. But I'm sure that with your technology those memories can be laid open again."

"Perhaps," Danlen says cautiously.

"Once we've delivered Klaang to Qo'noS, _Enterprise_ will be heading for deep space as originally intended," Ianto continues. "Logically, W3 will be the first step – that's why it has been built in the first place. If you can fake the orders, we can pick Ms Heriot up with nobody asking any questions."

"Perhaps," Danlen says again. "What's the other possibility?"

"Jack Harkness," Ianto says promptly. "I happen to know that he's both piloted _and_ repaired the TARDIS on several occasions. He must have picked up at least _some_ Gallifreyan in order to do that. With all the other languages he speaks, it would have been a knack for him. _If_ you manage to find him that is. He's very good at hiding when he doesn't want to be found."

"I find the idea of Jack Harkness aboard _Enterprise_ terrifying," Danlen admits.

"Actually, so do I," Ianto grins ruefully. "He and Captain Archer would drive each other stark, bonking mad within days; they're just too much alike. Still, we might need him before this ends; and not just to translate the inscriptions. He's dealt with Time Lords and with rogue temporal agents in his time; and he's not afraid of making his hands dirty if he has to."

"He also thinks you're dead," Danlen points out.

Ianto shrugs. "Yeah, well, he isn't the only one. We'll cross that bridge when we reach it – what other choice do we have?"

"I agree," Captain Ducane says. "I also suggest employing both ex-companions for the case. We can create the paper trail for Ms Heriot easily; and the Vulcan aboard _Enterprise_ can help her recovering her memories… with a little unnoticed help from us. At the same time we can start a thorough search for Captain Harkness."

"And _I need_ to get back to _Enterprise_ without delay," Ianto says. "The only remaining question is: how much should I reveal to Captain Archer? I cannot avoid answering _some_ of his questions; but which ones can I answer without messing up the future?"

"We've been analyzing the situation," Danlen replies carefully, "and come to the decision that you should tell him the truth about yourself. Sooner or late he'll figure it out anyway; he's not stupid. Telling him your version can prevent dangerous misunderstandings."

"But that would mean talking about Jack's immortality; and about the Doctor, too," Ianto reminds him.

Danlen nods. "It would, yes. You should do it; he needs to know. Ensign Massaro can help you with that – she knows about the Doctor, and she also knows of Captain Harkness's… unique nature from first-hand experience. In fact, I'd inform Ensign Sato as well… she could be helpful with the decrypting of Gallifreyan; _and_ she's connected to Torchwood, too, however indirectly."

"What about Lieutenant Reed?" Captain Ducane asks. "He, too, is connected to Torchwood, which is why Captain Archer selected him for the job. Plus, he's a former intelligence officer. His insights can prove useful."

"Are we going to recreate Torchwood Three in the 22nd century?" Ianto asks, amused.

"Mr Daniels, Torchwood was never supposed to be destroyed," Danlen says seriously. "As we've already told you, in the original timeline the Torchwood Institute was the driving force behind human space exploration. We won't be able to reset the timeline completely, I'm afraid – too much damage has already been done – but we intend to do as much damage control as possible. _Including_ the recreation of Torchwood; because alien threats to Earth have _not_ ended in the 21st century."

"Then you've got another reason to find Jack," Ianto says. "He's been with Torchwood Three from almost the beginning. You can't recreate the branch without him. Even though the Rift has closed."

"What's closed can open up again," Danlen points out grimly. "That Rift of yours is a sleeping volcano: a transdimensional wormhole, the working of which defies even 31st century science. It needs to be watched constantly, even in its dormant state. We can call us lucky that it didn't decide to reopen, say, in the middle of the Eugenic Wars. The ramifications could have been beyond repair."

"We've been neglecting the potential risks because we were too busy with the actually existing risks," Captain Ducane adds. "But sooner or later we'll have to start working on the problem. Preferably sooner. We hope we can count on you, once _E_ _nterprise_ 's first deep space mission is over."

"When will _that_ happen?" Ianto isn't eager to return to the Hub just yet and he doesn't see why he should pretend.

"In five years, by the way things are developing right now," Danlen replies. "However, with the recent violations of the timeline… I can't tell you for certain,"

Five _years_? Ianto finds he can live with _that_. One can see a lot of wonders in deep space in five years. Returning to a more… ordered lifestyle after five years of adventures might even be a welcome change.

"All right," he says. "I'm in. But you should _really_ return me to _Enterprise_ now. I made a promise to Captain Archer and I'd like to keep it.

~TBC~


	13. Chapter 13: Coming Out of Ianto Jones

**A Matter of Time**

 **by Soledad**

For disclaimer, rating, etc., see the Introduction.

This one is for those who've asked to finally meet Gwen-bloody-Cooper's progeny – enjoy, me dearies!

Crewman Jenkins is actually a canon character; I just re-cast him with Christopher Cooke who played a similarly-named character in Dr Who, because, well, because he _is_ pretty. Yeah, I'm shallow that way.

I did twist things a bit about Zoë Heriot, but only to fit her better into the Star Trek universe. Nothing that would be truly important was changed.

* * *

 **Chapter 13 – The Coming out of Jones, Ianto Jones**

Archer's decision to leave their quartermaster behind to the tender mercies of the Suliban has caused a mutinous atmosphere aboard _Enterprise_. Everyone has come to like CPO Daniels (and his magic coffee) very much; besides, the mere idea of leaving _anyone_ behind doesn't bode well with the crew. Especially the lower ranks are upset – and _very_ vocal – about the whole situation.

"I mean we can't just leave somebody behind!" Crewman Elizabeth Cutler from Sciences explains Doctor Phlox, with whom she happens to share dinner in the Mess Hall. "I mean, I don't even _like_ Daniels with his I-know-everything attitude and how he sucks up to the captain all the time, with making him coffee and all that, as if the captain couldn't take coffee from the dispensers like everyone else, but if he's willing to leave _Daniels_ behind, what can the rest of us expect?"

"We can expect the captain to treat everyone the same way, without playing favourites," Ensign Hoshi Sato, who's sitting at a nearby table, says evenly. "It is dangerous out here, in case you haven't realized yet; and we have a mission to complete if we want to prevent an interplanetary war. Eight billion people back on Earth are more important than the less than hundred lives aboard this ship. It's that simple."

"It's easy for you to say," Cutler glares daggers at the communications officer. "You're on the Alpha Bridge crew, and the captain has selected you personally. _Your_ position is safe."

"No position on this ship is safe, not even that of the captain, _unless_ we get the Klingon home in one piece," Hoshi rises and pockets her PDA device. "Excuse me," she adds for the steward on duty as she hands him black her plate, "but the level of stupidity in this room has ruined my appetite."

She leaves the Mess Hall with long, purposeful strides, without a backward glance. Crewman Cutler stares after her with the excellent, open-mouthed imitation of a traumatised goldfish.

"What was _that_ supposed to mean?" she finally demands.

"Perhaps," Dr Phlox suggests gently, "you should be a little more subdued in your judgement of the captain, my dear. It has been my experience that his officers tend to jump to his defence very quickly."

* * *

At about the same time Commander Tucker gets summoned to the transporter room by a totally perplexed Crewman Jenkins.

"I don't know what to make of this, Chief," the almost-too-pretty technician with the distinct British accent explains. "It seems as if we had an incoming biomatter transport – which is impossible. We haven't initiated any transfer!"

"Calm down, Ross, and don't forget to breathe," Tucker checks the readings, quite certain that the over-eager young crewman has simply misinterpreted something… and freezes. The control screen indeed indicates an incoming biomatter transport; by the size and weight of it most likely a person. "Hmmm… as unlikely as it seems, you're right. Somebody is apparently trying to beam aboard."

"Without us signalling the OK?" Jenkins asks doubtfully. "Is that even possible, Chief?"

"It shouldn't be," Tucker pushes the intercom button. "Tucker to Reed."

"Go ahead," comes the armoury officer's answer.

"Lieutenant, we have a possible… situation in the transporter room. I _might_ need security down here – and a force field around the transporter platform would be good, too. Just in case."

"Understood," almost immediately, an energy field sizzles into existence around the transporter platform.

Tucker makes a mental note of making some small modifications, so that it would happen automatically, without the necessity of asking Reed to raise one and thus losing precious time. Why hasn't he – or someone with actual experience in space – thought of it right at the beginning?

"A team will be with you within two minutes," the armoury officer adds and breaks the connection.

"Chief, we won't be able to keep their pattern in the buffer undamaged for much longer," Jenkins warns.

Tucker knows that, of course; he also knows that it's ultimately his decision – and he decides to take the risk.

"Set the biofilter to the highest level, then complete the transfer," he orders. "If they're hostile, we'll just have to deal with them on our own."

Jenkins gives him a reckless grin that seems somehow out of place on that pretty face of his and carries out his orders. At first, the transporter effect appears dangerously sluggish, but after a few tense moments the sparkling energy finally coalesces into the familiar shape of their intrepid quartermaster, CPO Daniels.

"I'll be damned!" Tucker whistles, clearly impressed. "How on Earth did you escape?"

Ianto stumbles from the platform, stops a millimetre before the force field and gives him a weak grin. "Trade secret. Can you let me out of here now?"

Tucker shakes his head. "Sorry, can't do. We'll have to wait for Lieutenant Reed to do that. But I'm already planning to change the arrangement. This version seems way too inefficient."

Then he can't help himself and calls the Bridge. "Cap'n, you're not gonna believe this, but we've just got Mr Daniels back!"

There's a moment of stunned silence, and then Archer's calm voice answers. "Well, he did say he's got his own means to escape. We should have believed him."

"Yeah, cause it was so frigging likely," Tucker mutters.

"Nonetheless," Archer replies. "Please come to my Ready Room, both of you. This is a story we all need to hear."

* * *

Twenty minutes – and a quick detour to his tiny office for coffee – later Ianto is sitting in the captain's Ready Room with the entire senior staff of _Enterprise_. With the exception of Dr Phlox, that is, who still doesn't dare to leave his patient's bedside – even a Klingon's metabolism has a hard time to deal with the amount of industrial strength truth serum Klaang was given by the Suliban – and T'Pol, who is currently in charge of the Bridge.

Besides, this is a purely human affair… for the moment anyway. It would be a bit complicated to explain Torchwood's importance to _aliens_.

"Well, Mr Daniels," Archer says when they're all seated. "I believe you owe us a few answers."

"More than you can probably realize, Captain," Ianto replies with a sigh. "I'm just not sure _where_ to begin. It is a long and _very_ complicated story, and there's a good chance that you won't believe half of it… none of you."

"Try us," Archer says with Jack's thin smile the older man used as a warning. "As for where to begin – why don't you tell us, for starters, who you _really_ are. Seeing that Ensign Massaro knows already."

Ianto nods. "As you wish, sir. My real name is Jones. Ianto Jones. I used to work for both: Torchwood's headquarters _and_ the Cardiff branch, back in the 21st century. I assume you all know what Torchwood was?" he looks around questioningly.

All but Mayweather are nodding.

"It was a British organization, founded by Her Royal Majesty Queen Victoria in the 19th century, for the express purpose to fight alien threats," Lieutenant Reed summarises for their chief helmsman. "Headquarters was destroyed in the early 2000s in a battle between two invading alien races; only twenty-seven people survived, out of eight hundred and something."

Ianto nods, his face darkening with memories.

"That is correct. I was one of those twenty-seven. I then went to work for the Cardiff branch that was established to watch the Rift: a transdimensional wormhole with its one fixed end under the city of Cardiff. It ran under the whole city and tended to spit up the weirdest – and usually very dangerous – things: pieces of alien technology, aliens themselves (usually homicidal ones), temporally displaced people and all that. It even caused temporal distortions from time to time."

"And nobody ever noticed?" Mayweather asks in surprise.

Ianto shrugs. "The people in Cardiff had over two hundred years to get used to it. Besides, we're Welsh. Aliens seem no more strange to us than the English are."

He sees Reed bristle, but the armoury officer manages to hold himself back… for now.

"In fact, for almost a century or so, Cardiff used to have a considerable population of aliens that ended up there through the Rift," Ianto continues. "We called them Weevils 'cos we had no idea what they called themselves. They were a primitive, ugly and aggressive bunch, living in the sewers and eating… well, you can imagine _what_ they ate, living down there."

Tucker obviously can; he's getting slightly green around the gills.

"Usually, they stayed among themselves," Sandra Massaro, also invited to the meeting, adds. "But sometimes one of them would get rouge, come to the surface, attack people. Then we had to hunt them down."

"And kill them?" Hoshi whispers.

Sandra shakes her head. "No; that was only the last resort. I understand that in the earlier times they were simply shot, but when Jack Harkness took over Torchwood Three in the year 2000, he changed policies in many areas. We usually captured the Weevils, chipped them, and if they were basically harmless, sent them back to the servers. The ones who took to killing people we put in the cells under our base. Owen, that was our doctor, studied them," she glances at Reed. "I'm told you are related to him."

The armoury officer shrugs. "Distantly; he was the cousin of one of my maternal ancestors. But yeah, Torchwood has always been part of the family legendarium."

"Just like with us," Archer adds. "The first Jack Harkness, the one from the 19th century, was one of my ancestors."

Ianto clears his throat apologetically.

"Err… Captain, this might come as a shock, but there was only _one_ Jack Harkness. Ever. Your ancestor was the same man Sandra and I worked for, a century and a half ago."

"My _donor_ worked for him," Sandra corrects with well-faked disdain. "I'm a clone, not a mummy, thank you very much."

Hoshi and Mayweather look at each other with shocked faces. Reed and Tucker simply nod, having known that particular fact already.

"So," Tucker then asks Ianto. "Are you a clone, too? Or did they freeze you for a century and a half? I'm told UNIT used to do that with people."

"Not with me," Ianto replies flatly. "I was actually killed in 2009," he turns to Archer. "Captain, are you aware of the circumstances of that particular alien invasion? The disaster with the 456?"

Archer nods. "I told you: I was somewhat close to Aunt Alice. I just never thought her inane ramblings had anything to do with the actual truth."

"Just a moment," Tucker interrupts. "I'm glad the two of you understand each other so splendidly, but would you mind to enlighten the rest of us? Because you're not making any sense – or do they to _you_?" he asks Sandra.

She shakes her head. "I have no memories from that time; my donor was already dead by then."

"Well, to make a long story short: the 456 were a fairly disgusting alien species, called so because of the frequency they used to contact the Earth leaders," Ianto summarizes. "They were a bunch fucking junkies that incorporated the bodies of human children into their own, using a chemical pre-pubescents produce as a drug… and no, we never actually learned which particular chemical it was."

"But how did they get their hands on our children?" Tucker asks, visibly revolted.

"Their _modus operandi_ was to set free some deadly virus that was about to mutate on a given planet, and then offer a cure – in exchange for a select number of children," Ianto explains. "They'd already played that card once in 1965, and the glorious British government of that time was willing to make a deal with the devil, to prevent what they thought was the greater evil. They tricked Jack into delivering twelve children to those monsters, in exchange of the cure."

"And Captain Harkness was willing to do so?" Archer asks, dismayed.

Ianto shrugs. "I'm not familiar with the exact circumstances, but I doubt Jack actually knew what was truly going on behind the scenes; or he honestly believed he was saving the Earth by sacrificing a few. I don't know. He never told me and, understandably, UNIT didn't keep records about it – none that I'd have access to, and I _did_ have access to practically everything, as the last Torchwood Archivist."

"It still wasn't right," Hoshi mutters, and Ianto nods.

"I know. But Jack was never afraid to make harsh decisions no-one else would have the balls to make. What nobody had expected, though, was that the 456 came back to Earth more than forty years later and demanded that ten percent of the world's children be given to the race as a gift, or else mankind would be destroyed in its entirety."

"Let me guess," Mayweather says grimly. "The respective governments gave in."

Ianto nods. "They were willing to, yes; and some fucking bitch in the British Government suggested to give them the children of the lower classes; the less important ones, as she put it. Armed troops were sent to collect the children, and if not for Jack, they'd have been handed over to those monsters."

"What did Jack do?" Sandra asks with interest; everyone else is too shocked to make any comment.

Ianto shrugs. "Well, I only know it in hearsay, seeing that by the time I was already dead – poisoned by the 456 like everyone else in _Thames House_ …"

"… except Jack," Sandra inserts, but Ianto shakes his head.

"Oh, Jack was poisoned like the rest of us sorry losers. But you know he never stays dead for too long. He snapped back to life like he always does and realized the only way to off the 456 was to bounce back their own transmission to them through the brainwaves of a child. A child that happened to be his own grandson."

"Oh my God!" Hoshi, the one best versed in the way of radio waves, blanches when she understands the ramifications. "That must have fried the brain of that poor child like an egg on the unshielded warp core!"

"It did," Ianto agrees grimly. "I'm told the view was not… pleasant. The boy suffered horrifically before he finally died."

"Jesus!" Archer is visibly fighting his nausea. "Small wonder Aunt Alice had such an extreme reaction when Jack Harkness was as much as mentioned within her earshot. The kid was her only son, wasn't it?"

Ianto nods mutely.

"Wait a minute!" Reed says, recovering from his shock. "What did you mean with Harkness never staying dead for long? Was he some sort of immortal freak or whatnot? Like the Highlander?"

"No," Sandra says in Ianto's stead, understanding the reference that the rest of the command crew would not. "Jack could be killed all right – he just didn't _stay_ dead. I should know," she adds with a self-deprecating grimace. "I did kill him, after all. Put a bullet right between his eyes."

"That was Suzie, not you," Ianto reminds her. "Besides, Owen killed him, too, less than a year later."

"Yeah, but Lieutenant Reed here isn't the one who remembers watching the bullet hole in his head heal within fifteen seconds or so," Sandra replies. "That is still me."

"You're not seriously expecting us to believe _that_ , are you?" Tucker asks incredulously. "No human being can _possibly_ have such regenerative abilities. Not even in the 22nd century."

"Yeah, but Jack came from the 51st century, originally," Ianto tells him matter-of-factly. "He used to be a Time Agent; then he had a freak accident and ended up wit a tiny piece of the Time Vortex inside him… although _inside him_ might not be the correct term. If I understand correctly, every cell of him is saturated with self-regenerating Artron energy."

"There is no such thing," Tucker protests vaguely. He's the best of them when it comes to such things, after all.

Ianto raises a sardonic eyebrow. "Tell that to the Time Lords. Their ships have a large chunk of the Time Vortex in their very hearts; that's how they can travel through space _and_ time… or even between parallel dimensions, if they have to."

Tucker snorts. "This is getting more ridiculous by the second. If T'Pol were here, she'd tell you that the Vulcan Science Directorate has come to the _logical_ conclusion that time travel is simply _not_ possible."

"Which is part of the reason why she isn't here," Archer says calmly. "I told you, Trip: that butterfly woman said that the Suliban get their orders from the future."

"She was pullin' your feet, obviously!"

"I'm not so sure. I remember being told that Torchwood war originally founded to neutralize a particular alien, among other things," Archer looks at Ianto. "There was someone called _Sir Doctor of the TARDIS_ , whom Queen Victoria declared _persona non grata_ on Earth – right after she'd knighted him…"

Ianto nods, grinning. "Yep. That is, as far as I know, the last of the Time Lords that still exists in our linear time. Which doesn't mean others couldn't visit from the past, of course."

"Time Lords?" Mayweather snorts. "That sounds like really bad science fiction. What race does truly call themselves _that_?"

"You _do_ feel as if you were partaking in really bad science fiction when dealing with them," Ianto admits. "And the race as a whole is called Gallifreyan. Only a select number of individuals in possession of time-travelling technology could call themselves Time Lords."

Archer shifts position in recognition. "These Gallifreyans… weren't they the ones fighting the last Time War? The ones you mentioned after we met Sarin?"

Ianto nods. "The same ones, yeah. They were an advanced race with technology beyond our imagination, let alone our understanding. Unfortunately, they were also a pretentious, pompous, meddlesome branch with delusions of godhood and very little to no regards for the younger races. The Doctor was – well, still _is_ – one of the more benevolent ones, actually, though even he can have his moments."

"Queen Victoria apparently disregarded with you," Reed, British to the marrow of his bones, comments smugly.

Ianto shrugs. "That was a misunderstanding; the Doctor actually saved Her Majesty's life. But she was so shocked by the mere existence of extraterrestrial life that she overreacted a bit. Still, Torchwood did a fairly good job protecting the Earth from alien invaders – with the occasional help from the Doctor, I may add."

"Weren't you guys supposed to capture him?" Mayweather asks with a frown.

Ianto laughs. "Well, yeah, that particular point of the Torchwood Charta got ignored after the fall of Headquarters. After all, Jack himself used to be one of the Doctor's travelling companions for a while. Back when he was still mortal."

"He never told us how did he end up with Torchwood Three, though," Suzie adds thoughtfully. Ianto shrugs again.

"I did some research; apparently, his vortex manipulator malfunctioned and threw him back to the 19th century instead of ours, when he could hope to re-join the Doctor. He was spotted in Cardiff by Torchwood agents and given the choice: working for them or ending up as a lab specimen. His regenerative abilities were thoroughly tested by Director Holroyd."

"You mean she killed her in various and highly imaginative ways," Sandra comments cynically and Ianto nods.

"She wasn't the only one. People tended to get very… _creative_ when they realised he'd come back from the death, no matter what."

"That's horrible," Hoshi whispers, stricken. "Other people only have to suffer through _one_ death. But to go through it again and again…"

"According to him, coming back was even worse," Ianto says quietly. "He said once it was like being dragged through broken glass."

"So, does it mean he was already immortal when he married my great- great- great- great- and several more times great-grandmother?" Archer asks and Ianto nods again.

"I saw their wedding photo once," he adds with a somewhat wishful smile. "They were a handsome couple."

"Let's assume that I'm buyin' this immortality lark – which I ain't," Tucker says slowly. But assuming it _is_ true… weren't Jack here supposed to be bouncing back from death, too?"

"It doesn't work that way," Ianto replies. "None of Jack's children have inherited his immortality; for which he was eternally grateful. We might think it a blessing; Jack _knew_ it was a curse. Well… it _is_ a curse. He's still out there, after all; and in five billion years from now, he'll probably still be. No-one knows for certain, not even the Doctor, cos this never happened before… not that we'd know of it anyway."

"As interesting as this is, it still doesn't explain what happened to _you_ , Mr Daniels," Mayweather interrupts. "You say you were killed by these 4-5-6 guys. So, how come that you're here, very much alive… unless Captain Harkness's condition is contagious."

"It isn't," Ianto says. "I was pretty much dead, yeah; or, at least, in a condition that registered as death on 21st century human medical instruments. And in a few more days I _would_ have died irreversibly, had the Doctor not interfered."

"He came to Earth to save you but not earlier, when he could have prevented the entire disaster?" Archer frowns.

Ianto shakes his head. "He didn't come to save me; he originally came to refuel the TARDIS at the Rift – and was fairly shocked to find the Rift gone and Torchwood destroyed. None of this was supposed to happen. The Torchwood Institute should have been the driving force behind deep space exploration, up to several dozen centuries in the future. The timeline was obviously corrupted to an alarming level, and the Doctor sought for a way to right it."

"So we're actually living in an alternate time?" Archer seems reluctant to accept _that_ ; Ianto cannot blame him for it. For him, for all the others, this is the only human history they have ever known – realizing that it might be an error, or the result of deliberate tampering, must be unsettling for them.

"Afraid so, sir. The Doctor used Gallifreyan medical technology to heal me; then he brought me to the 31st century, where a very serious organization called the Temporal Agency watches over the timeline and interferes when somebody messes it up."

"Just like that?" Tucker comments doubtfully.

Ianto shakes his head again. "No; it's an immensely complicated process, and the chances to make things even worse are high. In some cases the changes go so deep that they become fixed points in time, so that they cannot be undone without causing even more harm. Such a change happened in the 21st century; what I'm currently doing is to prevent another one from happening in _your_ time. Or, at least, I'm trying."

"Why you?" Hoshi asks quietly.

"Because I'm a largely uninterested party," Ianto explains. "I'm out of my own time, where I count as dead. My only purpose is to protect _your_ timeline, and if I die trying, it wouldn't be disturbed by my death."

"Does this mean that the world as _we_ know isn't gonna be turned upside down and inside out?" Archer asks.

"Not if I do my job well," Ianto answers.

"What, exactly, _is_ your job?" Reed presses on. As the head of ship's security and a former intelligence officer, it is _his_ job to learn as much about potential dangers as possible.

"Right now, I have to stop the Suliban destabilizing the Klingon Empire and to find and neutralize the real forces behind them," Ianto replies. "Obviously, I can't do this alone. I need your help."

"But what can _we_ do?" Hoshi asks doubtfully.

"I can only offer a theory," Ianto says grimly. "We need to find a way to trap the entity that gives the Cabal their orders. I saw one of the temporal chambers through which they connect – and it had a Gallifreyan inscription."

"So we're dealing with one of those Time Lords?" Reed frowns.

"Or with somebody using stolen Gallifreyan technology," Ianto corrects. "We won't know for sure until somebody manages to translate the inscription," he looks at Archer. "My… employers at the Temporal Agency are going to pull strings, so that we'd be sent to Space Station W3 and pick up the only known person _possibly_ capable of doing so, as soon as we're done on Qo'noS, but I have the feeling that Ensign Sato's insights will prove invaluable in this matter."

"To pick up whom?" Archer asks, and Tucker says at the same time:

"Since when does Earth have space stations?"

"That, Commander, is a very long story I don't have the time to tell right now," Ianto replies to Tucker. "Looking up the history of the sublight sleeper ships sent out before and during the Eugenic Wars might prove insightful, though," then he turns back to Archer. "The person in question is a certain Zoë Heriot; a former child prodigy, now a young scientific genius. I assume you've heard of the Elite Programme, sir?"

Archer shakes his head. Unsurprisingly, though, Hoshi nods, and Ianto remembers that she was one of the last people subjected to that inhuman scheme.

"It was a misguided effort to answer the challenge of the genetically engineered superhumans," she explains for the others. "By taking gifted children away from their families at a tender age and subject them to harsh mental and physical conditioning, with the thinly-veiled purpose to bring out geniuses in mass production. Only that most of us ended up mentally or even physically damaged, due to the merciless pressure."

"Most of _us_?" Tucker echoes in shock. " _You_ used to be one of those kids?"

Hoshi gives him a wry look. "You didn't think I'd be able to speak over forty languages without being born with a specific gift did you? And since gifted people have been a common occurrence in our family in the east two hundred years, UNIT naturally kept a close eye on us. Fortunately for me, the Programme was dissolved after my first year with them. I was never so happy in my life as on the day I could leave Mars and return to Earth. Well… not unlike recently," she adds, with an apologetic look at Archer, who smiles.

It is the same smile with which Jack used to look at Toshiko when he was particularly proud of her. Ianto finds the similarity a little eerie; and, judged by her bemused expression, so does Sandra.

"You're better off with us anyway," Archer finally offers; Hoshi's only answer is a simple nod.

The captain then turns back to Ianto. "Can you tell me more about this Ms Heriot? Or is it _Doctor_ Heriot?"

"By right, it should be; she is an astrometricist First Class and an astrophysicist, with extraordinary programming skills who graduated as a pure mathematics major," Ianto answers thoughtfully. However, to my best knowledge, she never used her title professionally. I have no idea why."

"Because she finished her graduate studies at the age of sixteen," Sandra supports unexpectedly. "At that time underage students couldn't be awarded with doctorates, and she was sent off with the _Ascención_ before the educational system was reformed," she notices Ianto's surprise and raises a sardonic eyebrow. "You're not the only one to know things, Jonesy. This was a UNIT project; I picked up a lot of hush-hush facts before they put me into cryogenic storage."

"More than you were supposed to know, I guess," Ianto grins at her ferally, and she answers with a matching smirk.

"Hey, it's not my fault that the UNIT brass were always idiots."

"And you think this Ms Heriot would be willing to help us?" Archer is trying to steer the conversation back to the important factors.

"My employers will provide us with the necessary orders," Ianto replies with a shrug. "The problem is the memory block the Time Lords put in her head; but we're fairly certain that it can be removed with the help of Vulcan mental techniques."

Archer stares at him in shocked surprise. "You expect me to reveal all this to T'Pol?"

"Of course not," Ianto suppresses the urge of an exasperated eyeroll. "At least not yet; not before we have Ms Heriot on board. And even then, you'll have to choose carefully what you'd tell her, sir. The last thing we need is the Vulcan Science Directorate learning the truth and interfering with our mission."

"That's a point in which we completely agree," Archer says dryly. "But if we'll need her later, we'll have to find a way to keep her aboard, despite the fact that she's been planted here as a spy."

"And how are ya plannin' to do that, Jack?" Tucker demands. "Her job ends when we reach the Klingon homeworld; and we haven't made a secret of how much we hate havin' her aboard."

"When, exactly, are we supposed to reach Qo'noS?" Ianto asks.

"Another two days… if we push the engines really hard," Tuckers says, and Ianto grins at Archer.

"Well, Captain, that gives you two days for some serious grovelling. _Enterprise_ needs a science officer, after all."

"Try to come up with some _logical_ arguments," Tucker suggests helpfully, and Sandra adds:

"And don't forget to put the legendary Harkness charm to good use, sir."

Archer gives her a baleful look. "She's a _Vulcan_ , Massaro!"

"Exactly," Sandra counters. "She has far more advanced olfactory senses than a human woman; if _I can_ smell what you've inherited from _our_ Jack's 51st century pheromones, despite the generations in-between, she must be positively overwhelmed by them."

"Oh, come on!" Archer protests, exasperated. "Just how clichéd is _that_? Dashing captain thaws out icy alien princess…"

"Consider it chemical warfare; because it _is_ ," Sandra says bluntly. "This is an advantage you can use to get her help. Not doing so would be stupid; and you're _not_ a stupid man, Captain."

"Thanks for the voice of confidence," Archer mutters, half angry, half amused, and with that, the meeting is adjourned – for now.

They all rise and head for the exit, when Tucker stops and turns back to Ianto. "So, how are we supposed to call you from now on? Mr Jones or Mr Daniels?"

"Ianto Jones died in 2009," Ianto replies grimly. "Ifan Daniels has a waterproof paper trail, going back all to way to my niece, who was six at the time. But you can keep calling me Ianto; it's a derivative from Ifan, and everyone does it anyway. Well… everyone save Sandra here, but I hope she'll get used to it eventually, too."

"Up yours, Jonesy," Sandra replies amiably and follows Tucker out of the room.

When everyone has left, Archer stops Ianto, however.

"Stay with me for a moment, Mr Daniels. I admit I'm having a hard time digesting what you've told us, but I need more than just the semi-public version. So, why don't you sit down and tell me the parts you've left out?"

"I can't tell you _everything_ , Captain," Ianto answers. "I can't speak of what I know the future is supposed to be; that would influence your decisions and might have a detrimental effect on the outcome. As fort he past, there are some details that are, frankly, not your business. I've done things I'm not proud of, and so did Sandra's donor, but that has nothing to do with the current situation."

"Fair enough," Archer allows after a moment of consideration. "Tell me more about Torchwood, then. And about Jack Harkness."

"That I can do," Ianto agrees. "Coffee first, sir?"

"Dying for," Archer replies with feeling, and Ianto suppresses a smile.

In certain things Jack Harkness and his late progeny are very alike.

~TBC~


	14. Chapter 14: Conversational Klingon

**A Matter of Time**

 **by Soledad**

For disclaimer, rating, etc., see the Introduction.

A few lines of description and dialogue are taken from the original screenplay written by Rick Berman and Brannon Braga.

The particulars about the Klingon homeworld and Klingon culture are taken from "The Words of the Federation" by Shane Johnson and "The Budget Guide to the Klingon Words", a semi-canon, fan-created reference book. They are a fairly good match with canon, as fans are often more strict in that area than screenwriters. Where there are differences, I used the reference books, as they make more sense for me, personally.

The intricacies of the Klingon caste system are taken from the unfilmed story idea "Kitumba" by John Meredyth Lucas, that was supposed to be part of Star Trek II, a rejected attempt to continue the Original Series.

* * *

 **Chapter 14 – Conversational Klingon**

Having pushed their brand new engines to the limit, they reach their destination before schedule, without being bothered by the Suliban or any other hostiles on their way. Either Silik has been able to persuade his mysterious contact that Klaang no longer is a threat for their nebulous plans, or he is still waiting for new instructions.

Ianto doesn't know and he doesn't care. Being one of the first humans who get to see the Klingon homeworld is too exciting. He's never been the _first_ in anything, save for being killed by the 456, which doesn't really count, and he secretly revels in the feeling. He was thoroughly debriefed about their destination at Futurama, but knowing and actually _seeing_ are two very different cups of tea. Or coffee, in his case.

The Klingon homeworld, located at the galactic coordinates -321.5, 48.6, -87.9, is the second planet of an orange binary star. It is called by many names, Ianto knows: Qo'noS, Klinzhai and YuQ (meaning "The World") are the most popular ones. The world has a KSC (Klingon Stellar Cartography) number but is identified by other races by different names and numbers, none of which is currently known on Earth.

What a Klingon means when he refers to his world depends largely on where he comes from and what dialect he speaks. Qo'noS is the official name of the homeworld. Klinzhai is actually the name of the primary star around which Qo'noS orbits. It is also the name of one of the island nations on Qo'noS; a nation that, during the long and violent history of the Empire, has become the leading force of a race led by warriors.

None of this is known to the average human, of course – not even to those in Starfleet – thus Archer makes sure that the senior officers listen to T'Pol's factual introduction _very_ carefully.

"Qo'noS is nearly one and a half times the size of Terra," the Vulcan explains. "It is the second planet in a five planet system, and the only one originally capable of supporting life. However, the Klingons have settled the third planet of their home system 175.2 Earth years ago, and a preparatory post has been established on the fourth planet, where their version of terraforming has already begun."

"What about the other planets?" Lieutenant Reed asks.

"The first planet of the system orbits too close to the twin suns; similar to Mercury Solis," T'Pol replies with scientific precision. "It is a burned-out world that keeps one side to the suns at all times, allowing a science post to exist on the dark side. The fifth planet is a frozen waste."

"I find the idea of a _Klingon_ science post a bit hard to believe," Tucker comments, pulling a face. His few chance encounters with their passenger haven't left a good impression.

"They are a warlike race, that is correct," the Vulcan allows. "But that does not mean they are technologically inferior. Or did your own people not make their greatest scientific discoveries while trying to develop stronger, more efficient weapons with which to kill each other?"

"Touché!" Archer says smoothly, before the visibly enraged chief engineer could give in to the urge to throttle their science officer… or die trying. ""What can you tell us about Qo'noS itself?"

"Very little of it is know, as Klingons rarely tolerate off-worldlers on the homeworld," T'Pol replies. "What we _do_ know are mainly scientific facts, gained through decades-long observation and logical deduction. As you can see on the diagram, the planet tilts only a few degrees on its axis, resulting in very little seasonal change. Also, a high, dense layer of carbon dioxide in the upper atmosphere retains heat, creating a greenhouse effect that renders the average temperature high for a Minshara-class world."

"And these guys are still running around wearing leather and steel all the time?" Tucker whistles. "The bastards must be tougher than cooked swine hides!"

"They are resilient," if T'Pol has found the comparison disgusting, she shows no sign of it. "They have to; Qo'noS is _not_ a hospitable world. Compared with other Minshara-class planets, it has relatively little vegetation, save for the few equatorial jungles. As a result, nearly every native animal species in carnivorous and hostile in nature."

"Just like the Klingons themselves," Lieutenant Reed comments, and T'Pol inclines her head in agreement.

"Indeed. Klingons like to hunt as much as they like going to war; however, most of their food is grown on the third planet of the system, which they call Kiazh. That is where the majority of their people lives and works in our times. Qo'noS is basically occupied by the ruling class and the military… which are largely identical. Very little is known about their ruling system, as not even embassies are allowed on the homeworld – they are all situated on Kiazh."

"Sop you can't tell us anything about the possible conflict between the various Klingon factions?" Archer is clearly disappointed.

"On the contrary; Klingon politics _consist_ of violent conflicts between the various factions," T'Pol replies calmly. "The problem is twofold: the older source of conflict is the one among the major ethnic groups."

"You mean they aren't a homogenous population?" Reed asks.

"Of course not; which species is?" T'Pol gives him the Vulcan eyebrow™. "There are five large ethnic groups know to us: the Klinzhai, the Kumburanya, the Rumaiym, the Wijnqan and the Daqawly. Of these five, the Kumburanya and the Rumaiym are the most numerous and influential… or, at least, they were."

"Would you care to elaborate?" Archer is trying to control his impatience, but it's clearly not an easy task.

"The Rumaiym were, according to the legends, the founders of the first two great kingdoms and basically ruled great parts of the homeworld for nearly twelve hundred local years, with a four thousand year long power struggle between various factions in-between the two kingdoms," T'Pol explains. "Then the ruler of a small island nation, Kahless, Lord of Klinzhai and the Skies Above It, allied himself with the most numerous and primitive Kumburanya tribes and brought the life of Molor, First King Twelfth, and of his kingdom to an end. On that day, Kahless declared himself Emperor of the World and the Skies Above it – which, basically, was the birthday of the Klingon Empire."

T'Pol pauses and waits for her shipmates to digest some of the information she has dumped onto them without forewarning; then she adds dryly. "Of course, most of the imperial history cannot be found in print anywhere, which complicates things. Being true traditionals, the Klingons preserved the custom of memorizing tales and retelling them as fables to the present. Oral history is much more… colourful than what appears in the history books, and it is near impossible to tell which one is more accurate."

"None of which is really important for us at the moment," Archer says dismissively. "So, which group is currently the dominant one?"

"The Kumburanya," T'Pol replies without hesitation. "They are also nearly identical with the warrior caste – the only Klingons most off-worldlers ever get to meet. The original Klinzhai nation has merged with them and practically ceased to exist as an independent ethnic group. The Rumaiym, having been forced out of power and military, took the second best option and focused on science and technology; as much as the Kumburanya despise and hate them, without them the Empire would fall to pieces… back to the Stone Age."

"You mean they are the ones with the actual brains?" Tucker translates for himself and T'Pol nods.

"With the scientific mindset and the technical know-how, yes, while the Kumburanya have the actual power. So they tolerate each other, but this is an uncertain truce. And finally, there are the other two groups, together making up 40.74 per cent of the population, who do the actual work and keep the Empire running. They are called Subjects by the other two castes – and are increasingly discontent with their low place in society."

"In other words: there is plenty of explosive stuff for the Suliban to play with," Archer summarizes, and the Vulcan nods again.

"Correct, Captain. Stirring up the already existing conflicts enough for them to end in a civil war would be easier than keeping the status quo. It is surprising that they are not already fighting each other to complete destruction… _again_."

"Well, let's hope that the proof Klaang is supposedly carrying will prevent _that_ from happening… this time," Archer comments.

As if on clue, Hoshi raises a hand to her Feinberger module, through which a message from her relief communications officer, Crewman Baird, is coming in.

"Captain, we've just received permission from the Klingon High Council to go down to Qo'noS," she reports. "They demand that we take Klaang with us. Immediately."

"Well," Archer says with a wry grin. "Who could refuse such a heartfelt invitation? T'Pol, I'd like you to come with us… as our witness that we have, indeed, delivered the Klingon to his people in one piece."

"What _they_ are going to do with him is another matter entirely," Ianto mutters cynically.

"Exactly," Archer counters. "And since you seem to have such a surprisingly detailed knowledge about Klingons, you'll come with me, Mr Daniels."

"Gladly, Captain," Ianto fights hard to conceal his excitement over the chance to see the Klingon homeworld with his own eyes. "I think, however, that you should take Ensign Sato with us, too. My Klingonese is passable, but I don't have her instinctive understanding of the language… of _any_ language, in fact."

"I planned to bring her anyway," Archer replies. "All right, people, let's meet in the Shuttle Bay in ten minutes, sharp. Dismissed."

* * *

The First City of the Klingons looks like a detail from a particularly eerie gothic novel with its monolithic buildings and dark towers that are looming threateningly in the smoggy, reddish haze of the system's twin suns. The High Council Chamber is the most imposing building of all, rising skywards from a steep hill like a medieval fortress.

From the inside, the ancient room is constructed of withered grey stone and blackened wood beams. The only illumination comes from huge torches, which create ragged shadows on the walls. Four elderly Klingons, with greying, shaggy hair and beards, sit on raised thrones above the chamber floor. They wear ceremonial regalia – heavy robes and cloaks and thick belts – adorned with primitive weapons. There can be no doubt that they represent the governing body of the Empire.

Twenty or so other Klingons, clearly of much lesser rank, stand below them, including numerous armed guards… armed with high-tech energy weapons as well as with vicious-looking, curved blades. By all their traditionalism, the Klingons are clearly willing to use any means necessary to protect their leaders.

Or to assassinate them, if that is what their peculiar interpretation of honour demands.

When the guards open the heavy doors for Archer, T'Pol, Hoshi and Ianto, who've been made to wait with Klaang in the outer chamber, the Council Members are in the middle of a heated debate, yelling at each other in the official dialect of Klingonese.

"I'm getting the feeling that there is great strife among them," Archer murmurs.

"There usually is," T'Pol comments dryly.

The oldest Council Member, whom Ianto identifies by his insignia as the Chancellor, now stands and bellows," _Malja'gor_!"

Klaang steps forward shakily, walks toward the dais… then stops. He tries to muster as much strength and dignity as he can.

" _Wo'migh Oagh! Q'ala_ ," he intones.

Archer looks questioningly at Hoshi, who shrugs.

"Something about disgracing the Empire," she murmurs. "He says he's ready to _remove himself_ … whatever _that_ 's supposed to be."

"A euphemism for ritual suicide," Ianto replies promptly.

His two fellow humans exchange shocked looks; T'Pol, however, remains unfazed. She must have known the meaning of the phrase already, which is not really surprising. The Vulcans have had contact with the Klingons a lot longer than humans.

The Chancellor gives no answer at all. Instead, he slowly descends the great stone steps, pulling a vicious, three-bladed knife from its sheath.

"That's a _d'k tagh_ ," Ianto comments _sotto voce_. "A traditional warrior's knife, commonly used in hand-to-hand combat as well as in many ceremonies."

"Including executions?" Archer asks.

"No," Ianto replies dryly. "For that, they use the _kut'luch_ ; a serrated blade that is usually left in the wound."

"Charming," Hoshi mutters.

Meanwhile, the Chancellor has reached the bottom of the steps and stops before Klaang, who tenses as the Chancellor raises the knife.

Archer looks at Ianto. "They seem to be willing to make and exception."

Ianto merely shrugs.

The Chancellor, however, doesn't execute Klaang. He simply grabs Klaang's wrist and draws the blade across his palm. Klaang appears oblivious to the pain; he looks puzzled, though, as the Chancellor calls to a nearby aide: " _Pog_!"

The aide approaches them with unhurried strides, carrying a small vial. He holds it up, as the Chancellor turns Klaang's hand, allowing a few drops of blood to fall into it.

"Clever!" Ianto murmurs, realising what's going on.

Archer, however, doesn't, and looks at him in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I believe Mr Daniels is referring to the possibility that the information has been hidden in Klaang's blood," T'Pol suggests calmly.

"Hoshi looks at them wide-eyed. "Is that even possible?"

"We'll see in a moment," Ianto says.

Meanwhile, the aide has taken the vial to a large apparatus, which seems far more high-tech than anything else in the chamber. He pours a drop of blood onto a sensor pad, and inserts it into the apparatus. A previously unnoticed large screen illuminates, displaying highly magnified, purple Klingon blood cells.

As the aide adjusts the controls, the image continues to magnify, with the Council Members muttering guttural sounds of approval, like some bizarre Greek chorus. The enlarging image now shows spirals of DNA, which keep magnifying... until they can see a new, distinctive pattern taking form within the molecules themselves.

"As I said," Ianto comments in satisfaction. "Molecular encoding. Very clever indeed! Look at all the hidden Suliban data: coordinates, maps, text, schedules... the whole nine miles! Amazing what a group of determined Arcateenians can accomplish by using their telepathic abilities."

"They paid the price for it," Archer reminds him, but Ianto remains unshaken.

"It was Sarin's choice," he says simply. "And it was a heroic feat."

The Klingons obviously agree with him. As chamber erupts with shouts of gruff approval. They quickly fall silent again, though, as the Chancellor turns and approaches the small team of off-worldlers… the first one to touch the sacred ground of Qo'noS for longer than even their storytellers can remember.

He lifts the _d'k tagh_ to Archer's throat.

" _ChugDah hegh. Volcha va_ ," he barks; then, unexpectedly, lowers the blade and walks away.

"I'll take that as a thank you," Archer says to Hoshi in a low voice.

Hoshi rolls her eyes. "I don't think they _have_ a word for thank you."

"They do not," T'Pol says matter-of-factly. "Not in the sense any of us would use it anyway."

"What _did_ he say?" Archer insists, his curiosity piqued.

"Believe me, Captain, you don't want to know," Hoshi replies, unnerved.

"It was a compliment, actually," Ianto tells them. "He meant it would be an honour to slay you in battle, sir."

"I'm flattered," Archer says flatly.

"You should," Ianto replies seriously.

It's Archer's turn now to roll his eyes.

"In any case, I think we've outlived our welcome," he then says. "Let's blow this joint while we still can."

"I concur," T'Pol says. "You can be content with your achievement, Captain. You've accomplished the mission and prevented a war… for now anyway."

"Oh, I _am_ content," Archer replies. "More than content, in fact; I'm positively ecstatic. Let's go back to _Enterprise_ and celebrate!"

* * *

The celebration in the Mess Hall lasts half the night, while _Enterprise_ is orbiting the Klingon homeworld well beyond the reach of the automatic defence systems. But little by little, the crew leaves to go after their daily (or rather nightly) business, and in the end, only the senior officers remain, whom Archer invites over to his Ready Room.

As an afterthought, he extends the invitation to Ianto and Sandra, too.

"I've just gotten a response to the message I sent to Admiral Forrest," he tells them. "He enjoyed telling the Vulcan High Command about the Suliban we ran into. It's not every day he gets to be the one dispensing information," he adds, grinning at T'Pol, who simply raises an eyebrow.

Also," Archer continues, "I wanted you all to hear Starfleet's orders before I inform the crew."

"Orders, Captain?" Tucker echoes in surprise.

Archer ignores him for the moment, turning instead to T'Pol. "Your people are sending a transport to pick you up."

That earns him a perfectly arched Vulcan eyebrow – again.

"I was under the impression that _Enterprise_ would be taking me back to Earth," T'Pol replies

"It would be a little out of our way," Archer is almost unbearably smug; like a cat that's just ate the canary, with a side dish of cream to it. "Admiral Forrest sees no reason why we shouldn't keep going."

Tucker gives Ianto a look of pure admiration. "Son of a bitch! You've actually done it!"

Ianto adopts a look of wounded innocence. "I'm sure I have no idea what you mean, Commander," he pauses; then he turns to Archer. "Am I correct to assume that our goal is Space Station W3, sir?"

"Eventually," Archer replies. "We're encouraged to do some actual research on our way there, though," he looks at Phlox. "I hope you don't mind staying with us a little longer, Doctor."

"Not at all, Captain," the Denobulan replies with that slightly creepy smile of his. "In fact, I'm developing a fondness for the human endocrine system."

Sandra is grinning at Tucker like a fool. "We'll have to get double shifts on the repair work, Chief. We've taken quite a bit of battering at the Suliban Helix."

Tucker nods in agreement. "The outer hull's going to need a little patching up. Let's hope that's the last time somebody takes a shot at us."

"Amen," Archer says with feeling.

"I wouldn't keep my hopes up," Ianto mutters; then he clears his throat. "Captain, if I may make a suggestion…"

Archer gives him a wary look. "Why do I have the feeling that I'm not gonna like this?"

"Cos you're a perceptive man, perhaps?" Ianto asks back. "Look, sir, I know you've seen Vulcans as an obstacle all your life... always keeping us from standing on our own two feet…"

"That's true," Archer says slowly. "And I think I see where you're going to with this. If I'm going to pull this off, there are a few things I have to leave behind. Things like preconceptions… holding grudges... mistrust..."

Ianto nods. "Correct, sir. Let's be frank: this mission would've failed without Subcommander T'Pol's help."

"I will not dispute that," T'Pol says flatly.

Archer resists the temptation to retort. He's getting used to her dry humour; and besides, he doesn't want to lose the opportunity Ianto has prepared for him so smoothly.

"Mr Daniels is right," he says thoughtfully. "A Vulcan Science Officer could come in handy. But if I asked you to stay, it might look like I wasn't ready to do this on my own."

"Perhaps you should add pride to your list," T'Pol comments, and Archer has the grace to look embarrassed.

"Perhaps I should."

T'Pol considers for a moment, then she lets him off the hook.

"It might be best if I were to contact my superiors and make the request myself," she suggests. "With your permission, Captain."

"Permission granted," for once, Archer's wide, white smile is honest; it even reaches his eyes.

"I do have one condition, though," T'Pol continues, and the smile freezes at once.

"And that would be:"

"I am not blind, Captain; nor am I stupid," the Vulcan states calmly. "I am well aware of the fact that there is more going on in the background of this mission than you are telling me. So, if you want me 'in', as you humans prefer to call it, you will have to _let_ me in. Otherwise I see no proper basis for our future cooperation."

"She does have a point, Jack," Tucker admits, and Archer sighs.

"I know, Trip. But I also have very good reasons _not_ to want the Vulcan High Command to learn about the true reason behind our mission."

"That can be arranged," T'Pol says.

"How?" Archer asks with a snort. "They'll demand daily reports from you about everything we do!"

"Of course," she allows. "But what you actually _do_ and the reasons _why_ you do it are two different cups of _seya_."

"I thought Vulcans didn't lie," Reed stares at her with narrowed eyes.

"I do not intend to _lie_ to my superiors," T'Pol returns with cool detachment. "I shall, however, spare them the detailed description of all the illogical reasons that drive forth the actions of human beings. The High Command does not need to be burdened by such trivialities."

For a moment there is shocked silence in the Ready Room, broken by Archer's full-belly laughter.

"I think we all can live with that," he says. "Welcome aboard, Subcommander!"

Shortly thereafter, they all enter the Bridge from the Ready Room. Reed, Mayweather and Hoshi reclaim their stations, while Sandra and Ianto hover at the turbolift, waiting for the Captain to make his big announcement.

Archer asks Hoshi to put him on ship-wide intercom and clears his throat.

"I hope nobody's in a big hurry to get home," he says to everybody. "Starfleet seems to think we're ready to begin our actual mission."

Excited reactions filter through the intercom from all over the ship and Archer grins happily, like a child in a candy shop.

"I understand there's an inhabited planet a few light years from here," he continues.

Reed checks the readings of the long-range scanners.

"Sensors show a nitrogen-sulphide atmosphere," he reports.

"Probably not humanoids," Hoshi adds, her eyes shining with excitement.

"That's what we're here to find out," Archer turns to Mayweather. "Prepare to break orbit and lay in a course."

Mayweather does as he's told; then he looks up. "I'm reading an ion storm on that trajectory, sir... should I go around it?"

Archer takes his chair and shakes his head. "We can't be afraid of the wind, Ensign. Take us to warp four."

Mayweather acknowledges his order, and _Enterprise_ jumps into warp space… to boldly go where no man has gone before.

~The End~

soledad_cartwright 20. 10. 2015.

* * *

As you can see, this story is now complete. There will be several sequels, all set in this alternate universe, assuming that I'll find the time and the inspiration to write them. Let's say that I know what's going to happen and why - see you later (hopefully) in this place.


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